All the Kings Men
by Samolfran
Summary: Éomer fell in love with a peasant girl before the war broke out. He left her to a cruel fate, while his own fate only tore him further away from her. We follow the two lovers through their trials and wonder where they ended up. Éomer/OC. R/R please.
1. Chapter 1

**All the King's Men**

Chapter 1

He was 28 years of age and had been the third marshal of the Mark for 4 years, riding patrols, trying to rid the lands of the foul, stinking creatures that seemed to spawn out of the earth whenever they had eradicated an area of them. None would have taken Éomer to be a passionate and impulsive person, no for that, he was much too controlled.

He had learned from an early age, that temper tantrums and hysterics did not get him what he wanted. It didn't bring his father home after he was killed in an orc raid. It didn't bring his mother out of her melancholy nor persuade her to eat or sleep. It also didn't bring him any favours with his trainers. And in his training he had found his salvation from the pain and the rebellion he had been going through since he was left in charge of what what left of his family, Éowyn.

She was only 8 and he was 13 when their mother succumbed to her grief. Their uncle took them both in and treated them as he did his own son, Théodred. But he was king and therefore had many duties, often taking him away from the golden hall of Meduseld for weeks at the time.

Théodred's mother had died in child birth, and he was raised mostly by nannies when his father was away. So the two new additions to the household got the same treatment, and although it was much better than to be left in the streets on their own, it was not conducive for a healthy, nurturing environment for two grieving children.

So Éomer took the role of protector, counsellor and parent, really, for his younger sister, his own grief being pushed in the background and only manifesting as youthful rebellion, impossible manners and sometimes downright cruel behaviour towards those who wished to get close to him and help him, among others, Théoden.

The child didn't want a new father figure, who would abandon him like his own father had, for weeks at a time. He didn't want to trust another adult with his fears and longings, only to be pushed away like his mother had. So he pushed first. And he pushed hard.

He emerged himself so deeply in training, riding, archery, spear mastering, sword fighting, command training and politics that he tuned out the pains of his losses during the day. In the evenings he devoted himself to Éowyn and to the task of making her happy again. He grew serious and he grew up, too fast for his age.

People forgot the lively boy who played tricks on his elders and lead the juvenile gangs in their pranks throughout Edoras and Meduseld - The benefit of being the king's nephew was unlimited access, among other things, at least until they grew wiser and changed that.

What was left was a skilled and disciplined warrior, a great tactician and a man who knew well how to hide his searing feelings of hate for the enemy and fierce love for land and family behind a facáde of professionalism. A man who none really knew, except for maybe his sister, though the roles they had developed early on made it much easier for him to be there for her than it was to unload his burdens on her.

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He had been out on patrol for the last 9 days at the end of october. He and his riders were exhausted, cold, soaked to the skin, and even the ever cheerful Eothain had fallen silent. It was time to find a warm, dry place and let the men have a few days leave.

"Éothain!", he shouted, waiting for his first in command to come trotting up to him.

"Yes, my lord?"

"We need to find a place to dry out and stable the horses for a few days. How far are we from the nearest village?", he asked.

Éothain pulled out his leather map of the west fold and studied it for a brief moment. "We are just about one hours fast paced ride from Gulfar, a small township east of here, my lord."

"Good. That's where we're headed then". To the men, he shouted; "One hours ride to a warm bed and three days leave!". Needless to say the mood of the riders improved massively with that message, and they arrived at Gulfar after only 45 minutes.

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After Éomer had convinced the local inn owner to put his 30 riders and their horses up for the duration of the leave, the group took to tending to their horses.A rohirrim may not be on duty, but his horse still needed caring for before he himself got to eat and rest.

Not all of the riders of Rohan had the best reputation while on leave, but Éomers éored were, if not as disciplined as their leader, then at least enough so to not put him to shame in front of the townsfolk.

"Hásthu faegin mor, Firefoot" he spoke soothingly to his great black steed as he gently rubbed him down with dry straw. Firefoot turned his head and glanced at Éomer before giving him a nudge in the shoulder.

"Not until we're done, boy. You know the rules. First we clean you, then you get your carrot". The horse stomped his right hind leg in annoyance, but otherwise held his peace and hung his head, relaxing and waiting for his treat.

Suddenly, he raised his head and perked his ears. "What is it, boy?" Éomer asked and stopped to listen himself. He heard quiet footsteps and out of habit found the handle of his sword.

"My lord Éomer?" he heard a voice as clear as a crystal bell ask.

"Yes?"

"I was told I might find you out here by your men. The stew is getting cold, and i thought i'd bring you a bowl before that rowdy bunch in there take it all" there was a smile on the voice, and he was compelled to get out of Firefoot's stall to meet the stranger. When he did, he felt as if the air had been removed from his lounges by force and a summer sun had risen to hit him with warmth.

The voice belonged to a young woman with a perfect heart shaped face, full red lips and long dark lashes. Her long hair was the typical golden wheet color of his people, but what stood out was her eyes. They were bright and green as spring grass on the plain. The usual colours being blue, grey and varying shades of murky brown, Éomer was lost in them until her expression changed and she became guarded.

"My lord? Aren't you hungry?" she asked him.

_Gods yes! _he thought. Snapping back to form fast; "yes, thank you... What may I call you?"

"I'm Néela", she smiled.

"I'm Éomer" he said.

Holding back a giggle she replied "yes, I know", the mischief in her eyes making them dance. "The pot and the bowl are on the table out here when you're done". And with a last dazzling smile, she turned and walked away.

"Thank you" he told the now empty hallway of the stable. In his stall Firefoot shook his mane and whinnied, sounding very much like a high pitched laugh.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Néela closed the back door to the inn and exhaled slowly.

_Wow, what was that??_ She thought. _I've heard of the marshal, and that he was an imposing figure, but this is ridiculous! And the way he looked at me... oh no, I hope I don't have something on my face!_. Checking her reflection in one of the shiny pots in the kitchen she made sure that was not the case.

_Hmm, at little flushed, but nothing out of the ordinary. Why am I breathless? Come on girl, pull yourself together. This is not the first time a man has stared at you, it will not be the last!_

In truth, she was far more used to it than was her preference. Her father made her work as a serving maid in the inn in order to expose her to potential husbands. At the ripe age of 24, he thought it was about time she got married and moved out of his household.

He loved his daughter, but he was first and foremost a business man. And one less mouth to feed would grant him the financial freedom to expand his business to include the fine ales from the next townships old brewery.

Unfortunately, this meant that Néela got her fair share of stares, slaps in the rear and underhanded comments and propositions.

She sighed and turned to the dishes. _Really, I'm not THAT old. And why do everyone assume that because I'm not a teenager any more, I must be desperate to find a husband? Or jaded enough that I will roll in the sack with every guy who whistles at me. I am not a dog for crying out loud... And what in the world makes me think about what it would be like to make an exception for the marshal?? Enough! _

Her mother came in at that moment, and seeing her scrubbing at the dishes, she shooed her away. "No need for that, my dear. I'll do it. You don't want to get rough and red hands before you even have a man by your side." She winked and pushed her gently toward the inn's main serving room. It being full of riders, she should have guessed she wouldn't be allowed to hide in the kitchens.

As she entered she noticed that most of the riders had shed their uniforms in favour of informal tunics, and ale was being served all around. Songs we're breaking out here and there and the laughter was getting loud.

Nothing she wasn't used to, but she didn't look forward to later in the evening when the men got too drunk to remember their manners. Being in a group, recently freed from duty, drunk and in the absence of authority usually wasn't conditions that made men show their most gentle nor charming sides. Not that she couldn't handle herself.

Néela was soon busy running to and fro trying to keep the tankards full and the tables relatively clear. She offered pleasant smiles to those who were courteous towards her, and was always ready to sway out of reach of those, who sought to cop a feel while she made her way through the crowd.

"Excuse me, my lady." one of the more cheerful fellows said. "Did you get a chance to make sure our over worked marshal is well taken care of?". The question itself was innocent enough, but a few bystanders started snickering. "Oh get a hold of yourself Méol, that was not at all what I meant! Behave, or I will tell your wife when we get back to Edoras" he said to the rider behind her, instantly shutting him up.

_Aha, so they're not completely without authority then. __Question is if it was his wife or the young captain, he just obeyed. _If it had been the captain, she could be fairly sure of decent treatment as long as he was still present.

She gave him a grateful smile and before he could apologize for his comrades behaviour, she said "Yes indeed, he has all of his basic needs taken care of, my lord". His eyes widened before he caught himself. Instantly mischief spread across his face, and he gave her a slight wink.

"I supposed he is still recovering from your services out in the stables then?" he said, making Méol sputter in his ale followed by a furious coughing.

"I wouldn't know, my lord. I left right after the deed was done. I'm terribly busy tonight, you see." She gave him a crooked smile, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Méol left the room under the excuse of getting out of the smoke, still coughing. The young captain broke out laughing and Néela soon followed.

"I'm Eothain," he said giving a small bow of the head. "Néela," she said and gave her very best curtsy, which wasn't saying much. "As pleased as I am to meet you, my lord, I wasn't lying. i am terribly busy tonight, so if I may take your orders, gentlemen?"

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Soon she was back to work and didn't notice when Éomer came in the door with a puzzled expression on his face. He exchanged a few words with his captain before looking up at her taking orders from another table. He stalked over to stand patiently behind her, waiting until she was done.

Before he could utter a word, she twirled around and started off walking before she even saw him standing there. She bumped straight into his chest with a rather unladylike "oomph!"

Instinctively, Éomers arms came up to support her, and as he looked down at her in his arms, he got the strange sensation from before again. Only this time all sound had also evaporated from the room, save from the beat of his heart, which seemed to go faster by the second.

He inhaled to utter his apology, but in doing so, he caught the sent of her hair and the room spun.

She looked up at him and seemed just as speechless as he. She felt enveloped in warmth and safety, vaguely noticing the firm body against her own, her arms being caught at her sides. His scent was one of hay and freshly bathed man and she couldn't help but inhale deeply while looking into his serious eyes.

"I'm sorry, my lord," she all but whispered. "I'm not usually this clumsy."

"The fault is mine. I shouldn't have been standing in your way, Néela". His voice was strangely rough even though he spoke no louder than her. He steadied her and as he let her go a shiver tinkled down her spine, but whether it was for the sound of him saying her name, or from the chill his arms left behind, she wasn't sure. "I have a question for you," he said, once more composed.

"Why is it that one of my men is under the impression that I have acted inappropriate towards you, and is now mucking out the stables in his precious free time?"

"My lord?" she looked utterly puzzled.

"Méol thinks that I have somehow requested things of you, that are not normally asked of a maiden of your stature or profession." When his meaning dawned on her as well as the context to her earlier conversation with Éothain, she honestly didn't know if she wanted to blush or laugh outright.

So she did both.

Éomer looked at her in wonder, feeling the hairs on his arms stand pleasantly on end by the sound. He would be a happy man, if he could spend the rest of his life making her laugh, he thought.

_Wait, what? I don't even know this woman!... _But damn if he didn't want her back in his arms right this minute. He wondered what those rich, red lips would taste like. What her green eyes would look like in the throes of passion while she moaned his name. The scent of her skin as her naked body was entangled in his.

Before he could extract himself from his reverie, Éothain came over to the pair and offered his explanation to his friend and marshal.

When he was finished, Néela still had a mirthful smile all over her face, and Éomer found himself giving her a rueful grin himself.

"You are full of surprises, my lady," he said, "I'm not sure I have ever seen Éothain give another the lead in a joke before... Please excuse me while I go relieve Méol from his duty." He bowed lightly at the waist and turned to leave the room.

Néela looked at Éothain and with a smile and a silent agreement they went to their respective businesses.

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Reviews guarantee updates. I have the whole, rather long story mapped out, but the work of writing it takes incentive ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**I've never really known how much impact a review could have on someones mood**** (mine, that is). Reviewers are angles of inspiration. Thank you. **

**R****eviews will guarantee updates. If you wish it...**

Chapter 3

Winter came, and with it, Éomer and all the riders of Rohan were bound to be snowed in at Edoras. No point in riding out, when the horses were up to their chests in snow in most places.

Luckily Weather wasn't discriminating, so the orcs would have the same problems, holding their raids until the snow melted, so Éomer wasn't overly concerned.

He spent his long winter days mending his armour and weapons, listening to stories of his people and his men, talking strategy with his uncle and Théodred. That is, when his uncle didn't send his newest advisor in his stead, Gríma Wormtongue.

Éomer didn't like the man, and did nothing to hide this, but his uncle was sick and needed rest, so Éomer swallowed his personal feelings somewhat and tried to listen objectively to what Gríma had to say in his uncle's stead.

"You should take out the dog sleds out and hunt down the orcs in the east fold now that they are vulnerable, my lord Éomer," Gríma said.

"The orcs will have buried themselves deep within the mountains by now, holding out for spring, and dog sleds don't slide well on rock. Besides that, our warriors are trained to fight primarily from horseback and will be disadvantaged on foot, especially against orcs on wargs," Éomer replied.

"How will you propose we secure these lands and it's people from the beasts, then?" Gríma hissed at him.

Éomer scowled, "we do what we have always done. We strengthen our men during the snow, and let them be reminded what they are fighting for by letting them stay with their families. By spring, they will be eager to get out of their houses to protect their loved ones, and some of the wives will have had the chance to become with child. We are a scattered people, Gríma. If the men are never home, what do you think will happen to our population and the Rohirric way of life?"

"Excuses! Wanting to be comfortable during the frost is not reason enough to forsake the defences. That is a cowardly way to live ones life. I, for one..."

"ENOUGH!" The shout of the marshal was loud enough to halt all activity in the golden hall for a brief moment. "Have you not been listening, worm? The snow will be our defence in the winter. The orcs are no more fond of freezing to death than we are. We do not abandon our defences, we fortify them, and you will NEVER call my men cowards again, or I will take you out with me and let you ride up front on our next patrol against the raiders, is that understood?"

Without waiting for reply, he turned and left the hall. He had to get out of there before he lost the careful guard he had on his temper. It would not do to give the snake further ammunition against him. Or to accidentally murder him in a fit of rage.

The thought did put a rather grim smile on his face though...

He reached the steps of Meduseld and sat, letting the bite of the cold freshen him for a bit. Closing his eyes, he thought of green eyes and a crystal voice, as he had done too often since he visited the small town in the beginning of winter.

It calmed him, although he didn't understand why. Perhaps it was that he was reminded that such beauty existed in his country, and that was what he had to keep his eye on through the distractions and trials of politics.

He tried to remember the scent of her hair in order to drive out the thoughts of the slimy councillor, but he had lost that particular memory some weeks after he had returned to Edoras.

In the lonely nights laying in a draughty room, he could almost imagine her laying next to him, breathing softly. It almost ached inside him when he thought of this, and true to form, he set out towards the stables to see if there were any chores he could do there to stop the emotions from welling up in him.

The stable boys and even some of the men jumped and scurried out of his way as he stormed down between the stables, looking like Death himself, with storm in his eyes and all the aggressive grace of a roaring mountain river.

To his dismay, Firefoot's stall was newly cleaned and strawed, the stallion was brushed and fed and there was absolutely nothing for him to tend to. Said stallion looked at him for a moment and then threw his head up, understanding his masters mood.

"Yes, let's," Éomer said. He hurriedly got his reigns and put them on the impatient steed. Before even clearing the stall, he jumped on the horse's bare back and charged out of the stables as if the Názgul were on his tail.

Clearing the city gates, he let Firefoot run freely down the road where the snow was somewhat cleared. After a few kilometres, he let go of the reigns, closed his eyes with his head back while holding his arms out to his sides.

Firefoot stretched his legs like never before, going at break-neck speed but still had a gait that was smooth enough to not throw his rider. That Éomer was raised on horseback and was in complete sync with the stallion's movements made the endeavour a safe amusement rather than a suicide attempt, too.

"Néela..." Éomer whispered to himself, enraptured in the sensation of freedom and speed.

A thought suddenly hit him. He could be in Gulfar in two days if he just kept going. Being clad in only a tunic, a leather jerkin, trousers and light leather boots might pose a problem against the snowy cold at night, though. Unarmed and unequipped with fuel for even a fire, he decided to turn back before the night would fall, though the need to see her face again was now firmly manifested in him.

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Two days ride away, Néela was tending to the customers of her fathers inn as usual. It was a slow night, so her father had retired in good faith that Néela could handle the business. Her mother was still in the kitchen, minding the cauldron and cleaning up after the supper rush.

There were a few regular customers playing dice and smoking pipes near the large hearth and in the back sat three scattered groups of men she didn't know. One of the groups of strangers had been there since the afternoon and had rented rooms on the first and second floor of the inn. They had been drinking ale since they arrived, leaving them somewhat loud and raucous.

The men had ill favoured looks and were drinking and toasting to a job well done, their employer apparently being the white wizard of Isengard, Saruman.

Néela suspected them of being wild men of the mountains, unkempt and unbathed for far to long with rotten teeth and a certain foreign, crude accent to their speech. But it was well known, that Saruman was a friend to Rohan, so she thought no more of it, returning to mind her duties.

Bringing a tray full of mugs to one of the tables for the umpteenth time, one of the brutes grabbed her butt and gave a hard squeeze before she had the chance to evade him. The whole group roared with crude laughter as Néela burned in fury from her cheeks to her bosom . Maybe they thought her blushing to be contributed to embarrassment or even coyness, because it only spurred them on.

If only they had looked at her emerald hard eyes in stead of lower, they might have realised their mistake.

"Gentlemen, you now have two choices," She cut through the laughter with all the authority of a queen. The laughter died and the men involuntarily listened, some still having mocking smiles on their faces, though.

"You can either pay your bill and leave, never to return; Or you can apologize to me, pay your bill and return to your rooms for the night. Those are your options. What say you?"

"Why should we listen to you, peasant whore? You have nothing to back you up. I say we take you to my room and show you some manners! Women should know their place and speak only when spoken to. That is what I say," the apparent leader of the group spat at her.

At this, one of the men behind her grabbed her arms and caused her to drop the tray and all of the full mugs of ale to the floor. Her simple dress got soaked down the front and the ale chilled her while making her clothes cling to her body. For at brief moment she was stunned by shock and cold, then madness took her, and all her frustrations welled up in her like a geyser until she saw only red.

Pulling forward, the man constraining her was drawn with her, so that when she threw her head back in his face, hard, she heard bones breaking like from a distance. The red had her, so when she next kicked the leader's knee and broke his knee cap and bent the leg the wrong way, it was like watching the scene from afar, in time that was too slow to be real.

The next man trying to grab her from behind got a swift elbow to the temple and knocked him out cold. When the second in command stepped over his leader with a drawn back fist, Néela took a step forward and kicked him between the legs with all the force she could muster, quickly hereafter backhanding the last man across the face with a heavy, half-full mug.

She stood breathing heavily, and the only sound that could be heard in the inn was the moans from the hurt men and the crackling fire. Everybody else sat in awed silence.

Slowly, the enraged fog lifted from her mind and time returned to it's normal pace. Néela looked at the men, bleeding ad broken on the floor and suddenly felt all the blood rush from her face. Hurriedly she took the leader's coin purse, stepped past them and ran outside to find a place of solitude. She stopped when she got to the farthest booth in the stables, the very same she had first seen the Marshall in, and here she fell to her knees and shook all over her body.

The receding adrenaline finally let her feel all the fear and panic that most would have felt in the situation itself, so she broke down sobbing and feeling almost nauseous with it all.

Clutching her mid riff and swaying gently back and forth, she slowly began to calm down.

"I wish you were here right now," she whispered to the darkness. "I wish you held me tight and kept the demons at bay for me... But you are but a fantasy, and I have no claim to you. I don't even know you."

She started crying again, but this time the tears were silent, streaming down her face in big warm drops. Her eyes were closed and she could almost imagine that they were caresses from a lover. Her lover. The thought itself comforted her a little, pushing the worst loneliness and self pity away.

She dried her face and smoothed back her hair which had loosened itself from it's braid during the fight. Her fingers caught the bump in the back of her head that she had acquired when head butting her assailant. They came back sticky with blood. Getting a rag and a cold bucket of water, she tended to her cut and her face with patience and quietude.

In her stable locker, she found her dry riding clothes and changed into them. Instantly feeling better, she mentally prepared herself to leave her sanctuary and face the mess in the inn. No one else was lightly to clean up after her fight.

She turned to the stable booth and said, "I dearly hope to see you again someday, my Lord. Until then, I will find the strength to do as is expected of me." With a parting glance, she shook her head at her self, turned and went back inside, where the scrappers had been long kicked out of the establishment by the regulars. Her mother was mopping the floor of ale and blood.

Upon seeing her, her mother approached her with a wary look. "Wilhelm told me what happened. Are you all right, Dear?"

The careful care her mother showed her nearly undid Néela again, but before she could crack, her mother firmly embraced her and said, "you take the rest of the night to yourself, Dear. I will close up shop. Go to bed early and I will deal with your father tomorrow."

Néela smiled gratefully, albeit surprised, and went back outside to take a walk and clear her head.


	4. Chapter 4

**I have not forgotten my promise... ****:)**

Chapter 4

"I am going to ride out on patrol to ensure this council that things are not as dire as Gríma would have us believe. I am, however not taking my men away from their families to join on this quest. My route shall follow the mountain roots to the east for two weeks, and then I will turn back towards Edoras." This statement of Éomer's was met with confused silence from the audience, containing of Éowyn, and the council members, including Gríma Wormtongue.

"But brother, we need you here!" Éowyn cried. She stepped close to him and whispered, "Don't leave me here with the worm for what may end up being months! Do you not see how he leers at me? And who will keep him from taking over command of the army if you are not here?"

Èomer looked around at the council and did indeed see Gríma's eyes roaming over his sisters body appreciatively. The rest of the council were watching the siblings' exchange with more polite curiosity.

"I leave my command to Elfhelm, the senior of my éored. Éothain will be his acting second. My sister will be starting her education in the houses of healing as has long been her wish. You may contact her for matters of state or of our family, but I ask you to let her focus on her studies, as well as can be done. She has relatively little time to learn until I return."

Éowyn looked at him surprised before breaking out the special smile she reserved for her brother and embraced him tightly. "Thank you, Éomer!"

She ran to her rooms to pack, thinking that she was blessed to have a brother and protector who cared so much about her that he would do anything just to ensure her comfort and happiness. One thought gave her pause, though. Who ensured Éomer's comfort and happiness?

With a sigh, she took up her favourite possession; A locket Éomer had given her when their mother had died. It had an image of a soaring eagle on the front and an inscribed rune on the back that said _Strength._

_Wherever, whenever I can, dear brother, I swear to return your devotion and love. I will do anything to see you smile again. This is my promise__,_ Éowyn thought.

With a soft smile, she went back to packing for the next months of exciting training in the healing houses.

Back in the great hall, there was a heavy debate going on between the council members and Éomer. Gríma was suspiciously quiet and had a sour look on his face. He knew he had just been out manoeuvred by the marshal. His agenda could still be held if Éomer's mission was unsuccessful though, so he held his tongue. A change of plan was in order and only a fool spoke before thinking things through.

Gríma, however, was no fool.

"My lords, I realise you have some doubts about this venture of mine, but I assure you that you are all in good hands with my men and I will return to you before spring with information on where the greater bands of orcs might be hiding out. Come spring, we can strike them directly and destroy their lairs so that they will be forced out into the open. Besides, I wouldn't want speculations to start that I was sitting idle in the winter months." The last comment was directed at Gríma, and not hidden at all. "I have delegated all winter assignments and preparations to my men, and come spring they will be ready to move out, I assure you."

Gríma only bowed his head, not taking his eyes from Éomer's hard stare.

"But, my lord Éomer..." one of the council members said.

"I will not be dissuaded from my duties, my lords. So unless the king commands me to stay, this is my final word on the matter. If there are no other topics that need discussing today, I will take my leave?" He looked around the table once more and when nobody said anything, he nodded and turned and left the hall.

He had secretly started preparing to leave the day he had ridden from Edoras with Néela on his mind. All his clothes were mended or new, his armour in perfect condition and all his packs were stocked with food and well organized. Firefoot was shod, more than well rested and he had gotten a new, thick horse blanket. Gúthwine was sharp and clean, his bow strung and his arrow case full. He was ready to go.

Firefoot stood patiently waiting while Éomer put the lightest saddle he had on the horse's back, tightened the straps, adjusted the stirrups and the reins, then loaded all the packs on and tied them to the saddle, including his bed roll and Firefoot's blanket. Finally he equipped his weapons on his own person, already being in full armour and winter clothing.

"Good to go, my friend?" He asked the magnificent animal. Firefoot began walking out the stall before Éomer could catch him. He grinned and followed the horse out, knowing that Firefoot wouldn't forget him and leave him behind. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?" The horse stopped and looked back at him, huffed and whipped his tail at his master. "alright, alright, my taciturn friend."

Éomer mounted and the pair was off at a slow trot through Edoras. The tower guard called out and opened the gate when he saw his marshal.

Out in the open, Firefoot was let go and started galloping down the road at a tempered pace. Éomer's heart soared and a rueful smile spread across his face. He had no intention of making himself a liar to the council, and he would definitely be looking out for orcs on the borders of the mountains, all the while holding a steady course west towards Gulfar.

It would take longer to get there when travelling off road and along the jagged roots of the mountain, but the mere fact that he was finally free to go there put him in a better mood than he had been for months. Not that he expected anything from a visit to the village, he just had an itching need to look upon the green eyed serving girl again, just to see her. Hopefully she wouldn't think he was stalking her. Maybe she wouldn't recognise him when he came without his men. Maybe she would be happy to see him. Maybe the sun would stay in bed tomorrow. Right.

It was a clear night with a sharp bite of frost in the air, but otherwise quiet and still. The stars lit the crisp white landscape and permitted him to keep riding, albeit slowly for the sake of Firefoot's safety, long after the sun had settled in the early evening. Every breath of horse and master came out as a thick fog due to the cold, and Éomer finally relented and started to look for a place to set up camp for the night.

Half an hour later, Éomer sat at the fire on his blankets in a small half-cave surrounded by cliffs and steep hills. His fire would not be noticed by unfriendly eyes. Firefoot had been well tended to and after a warm supper of fresh, roasted hare, bread and vegetables, he lay down to sleep until sunrise.

His dreams were not as tranquil as the rest of the day had been, however.

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They started off revolving around the open ranges of Rohan, the wind of spring in his hair and the scent of flowers waving softly around him. he felt the sun on his skin. Colours began to swirl on the plains as flowers blossomed red, purple and yellow in the green grass. The skies turned from pale winter blue to summer's deeper colour slowly. The warmth had made him shed his armour and upper clothes and the heat of the sun was divine. As he turned his face down from the sky, he gazed into green, green eyes. The heat wasn't from the sun at all; it was from within him. And from her body.

He was drawn to her like the water was drawn to sea. As he reached for her face and cupped her cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. He embraced her and kissed her lips gently as she sighed and deepened the kiss, putting her arms around his shoulders. Her lightly clothed body was pressed against his naked torso and the heat from the connection surged through him and travelled south, stirring in his groin and making him instantly hard.

The need and the tension in him was building with every touch and taste and smell until he thought he would burst. He lay her down on his bed in his bedroom and carefully crawled up her body, kissing skin as he went. When he reached her lips again, he tightly embraced her and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She touched his stomach with surprisingly chilly hands, and when he looked up, Gríma Wormtongue sneered back at him. _"Doing your duty, my Lord?"_

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_

Éomer woke with a startled cry and jumped out of his blankets as fast as he could, trying to shake the image off of him. His heart was beating hard in his chest and the tension in his groin was quickly waning in Éomer's revolt of the mental image of the snivelling councillor.

"Valar, I'll end up being impotent if I ever dream like that again!" He gasped to himself.

Firefoot had woken when his master had jumped up and now looked at him curiously as if asking what ailed him. Éomer knew that the horse was of a rather simple conviction; That all troubles could be solved with a fast run across the plains. Or at least be left behind for a time.

"I doubt that running will absolve me from the images in my own mind, boy," the marshal chuckled.

Seeing the first signs of dawn on the eastern horizon, he decided to pack up and get moving. _To the horizon, then. Towards the sun, and Néela,_ he thought as he mounted Firefoot and set off for a day in the saddle.

_I must be going mad. Why is she always on my mind?_

* * *

Néela was washing laundry along the bank of the freezing mountain river running from the southern mountains towards the Entwash, many miles away. She had broken the ice and filled a tub with water that had been warmed over a fire. The clothes were warm and wet when she fished them from the tub, but quickly cooled when the took them out to scrub them on the small boulder with soap.

The result was frozen fingers and wet clothes, not only the ones being washed, but the ones she wore too. Washing in winter was excruciating work, which was probably why most people chose to rent a washing lady if at all possible, or wait with doing laundry until on the brink of disease. The smell of the poor in winter was truly unmistakable.

Néela's family wasn't poor, but her father was very careful with money and when one runs an inn with rooms to rent, laundry has to be washed often. Nobody wanted to rent rooms at a place with filthy sheets, and laundry was women's work. Painful, tedious and freezing cold work in the winter, but women's work none the less. So there she was.

She never complained about her chores, even though she had to soak her hands in the warm water after every piece of cloth had been washed in order to avoid getting frost bitten fingers. She would much rather be uncomfortable for one day than be dirty for the entire winter. Dirty meant sick and she knew that well. She had lost her younger brother to putrid fever many years ago. He had been 5 years old and had tried until the end to make her smile. She always did, even though it broke her heart to watch him fade away a little more every day.

When the last batch of clothes were washed and Néela was preparing to warm up another tub of water for the sheets, she saw a horse and rider coming from west of the village. This was far from a rare sight in the land of Rohan, but something stood out about the rider.

As he came closer over the next half hour, she noticed his proud posture and the enormous black stallion he rode on. The sun broke through the clouds and she clearly saw the red armour and the green cape of the Rohirrim.

This was no ordinary farmer or herder.

Excitement fluttered through her as she began to hope for a sight of her marshal. _Oh don't be ridiculous, Néela! What on earth would he be doing all the way out here in the middle of winter, alone no less! He wouldn't be, and I know that, but what if? Oh stop it, it's probably just a messenger..._

Thus, her argument kept going while she scrubbed sheets and desperately tried to ignore the rider coming slowly closer.

Bent over her work, she had finally succeeded in doing so, until said rider spoke to her. She had been so successful in her endeavour that she hadn't even heard the horse coming up to 4 metres behind her.

"Lady Néela?" the voice said carefully, as if not quite believing what it uttered.

_I know that voice, _she thought as her head snapped up. She looked straight ahead, trying to control her heart which was pounding on her ribs, a completely vain task.

"Éomer!" Her mouth exclaimed before she could catch her words. She turned to look at him and stood quickly.

"I... I mean, my lord! It's good to see you again." _So unbelievably good. _"Wh... What brings you to Gulfar?" _Did I just stutter?!? Oh someone, strike me down now. Valar, but he looks good. Less tired than before, and better dressed too. And those eyes could just swallow me up and never let me go again. oh, but I digress..._

Éomer felt like he had just seen his first sunrise. He was enthralled in the quick blush that crept across her cheeks and the shocked, excited expression in her beautiful, radiant green eyes. His chest had filled with warmth when she had said his name without even looking at him, but seeing her face was like coming home and riding into battle all at once. The feeling was confusing and exhilarating, but also calming somehow. Strange.

He dismounted and walked to her, getting the stiffness out of his legs after riding for a week. Smiling, he took her icy hands and said, "I am on a scouting patrol, my lady. It is good to see you too... Your hands are freezing!" Unwelcome thoughts of cold hands on his stomach briefly rushed his mind. "Let me warm them up for you, shall I?"

Before thinking, he pulled her hands and stuck them under his arms where his body heat could warm them up. This was normal aid to give when one of the éored had neglected to keep his hands from the cold.

The manoeuvre left them in very close proximity, however. Something Éomer had not considered nor planned for. Thank providence for thick winter clothes and armour to hide behind, even though images of his dreams surged through him and made it hard for him to breathe steadily and keep his bodily reactions to himself. He had been having the dreams every night and some days in the last week. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he looked down at the ground between them. _Just breathe, man. She still smells great. Yes, thank you, that certainly helps! Idiot._

"My lord Éomer?" Néela asked. "Are you alright? You must have travelled for some time. Have you eaten?"

The sudden contact between first their hands and now her hands on his body had taken her completely by surprise, but now his fast breath and swaying led her to believe that he was more weary than she had first assumed. And his heartbeat under her hands was much too fast for his current activity level.

He looked her straight in the eyes and she stopped her own breath all together.

"It seems to me that you are always making sure I am fed, my lady." A charming smile spread across his features. "I assure you that I am well fed and rested, in spite of the fact that I have not seen you for two months." _And a week and four days. _"But if you would rent me a room it would be appreciated greatly. The snow is a cold bed, after all."

"I will try to find you a warmer bed tonight, then." She smiled shyly at him. Then she realised that she was flirting heavily with a man far beyond her in rank, while holding her hands under his arms. They might as well have been embracing, and in broad daylight, for goodness' sake!

"B... But first i have laundry to attend to, my lord," She said as she tried to pull her now warm hands from his arms. "You are of course welcome to ride to the tavern, put up your horse and go inside to get warm."

He let the hands slip from him for decency's sake, but regretted the loss of her touch immediately. "Let me help you. You'll finish sooner and we can both enjoy getting warm all the sooner," he said. Truth of the matter was that he didn't want to give up her company so soon after seeing her again.

"Help me doing laundry, my lord?" She asked disbelieving of her ears. "Surely you are joking? Do you even know how? I mean, you're royalty, right?"

He smiled genuinely at her flustered questions. "I am only a kings nephew and a military man, hardly royalty. I do know how, yes. I had to learn when I took care of myself and my family when I was younger and later when I was out riding for long periods at a time. I am not joking, and yes, I meant to help you do laundry."

"Well... Thank you! I could surely use the help and the company. This is very kind of you, you know. I know no other man who would do such a thing in the middle of winter with no personal gain." _Stop blabbering, girl. You'll make him change his mind._

"I think you know the wrong men, respectfully, my lady. And who said there was no personal gain?" Mischief lit up Éomer's eyes as he bantered with her. Suddenly, he heard his own words. "Not that I expect anything in return, of course! I'll gladly pay for my room, and it does not obligate you towards me in any way. I just meant that I would enjoy the company as well. And I... Well... That's all really."

She giggled and turned towards the tub of soaped sheets. "Very well, my lord Éomer. Let's get this work over with."

The steady rhythm of the work soon relaxed them both and had them conversing in a friendly manner. Éomer told her more about how he had grown up, about his sister and his life as a Rohirric warrior, leaving out the more grizzly details though. In return, Néela told him about her life in the village, her family and her friends.

"It's a simple life, but if you put in the work, the benefits are safety and a full stomach if nothing goes wrong," she finished off.

"and what about your dreams, my lady? What do you wish for yourself and your future?" Èomer wondered about that for himself too, sometimes.

"It differs from day to day, my lord. Some days I just want what my family thinks is best for me; To find a reasonable husband and settle into a quiet life of family and a farm. It seems like the most possible solution. But most days I dare dream bigger. I dream of great love and small adventures..." She sighed and gave the pillow casing an extra hard scrub with the brush. "But such dreams are for silly girls and high born ladies."

He surprised her by laughing out loud. "Is that what you think, dear Néela? That those of nobility are free to do as they choose? oh no, that is not so. A high born lady, as you call them, is required to hold to decorum at all times when in public. She is lightly to be traded off in marriage to some lord she's never met in order to ensure family alliances, and while she must always be a role model to her people, she is the constant subject of gossip and intrigues at court. I do not think your choices are easier, mind you. I just think that nobility isn't as charming as you might imagine."

"Perhaps, my lord. But still, I dream of a life out of the ordinary and a love that even time will lay down for. I guess it is easier for common people to imagine that such a life exists in higher classes in stead of not at all. I will keep my dreams, even though they may now be even further away than before." She looked sad and wistful as she finished washing the last pillow case and Éomer hung it up to dry in the fresh breeze.

He touched her shoulder and bent his knees a little to catch her eyes. "I didn't mean to make you sad, dear one. I think your dreams are admirable, far too many put their goals within the realm of what is possible here and now, and where is the challenge in that? How could one grow from that? And for the record, I think you are anything but common." He leaned in and touched his lips to her forehead. "Let's finish up here, shall we?"

His words warmed her bones and as he kissed her forehead on that cold winters day, she slowly began to realise that she could very well lose her heart to this man. This incredibly kind, strong, attractive and noble man, who was the kings own nephew. It would end in heartbreak, she was sure, but she couldn't help it. No one had ever drawn her in like this before. She was aware that she was physically and irresistibly attracted to him from the first time she met him, but this was different. Now she also had to deal with her feelings for a man who she felt truly understood her and accepted her. She was in trouble.

"Are you coming, Néela?" Éomer sat on Firefoot and was reaching down to her.

"Wh... What? Really, my lord?" _Quit with the stuttering, already! You are not 15 any longer._

"I'm tired and cold, and I'm sure you are too. Come, let us get inside. Firefoot likes you, I can tell, so don't fret." He smiled encouragingly at her.

She took his hand hesitatingly while mumbling, "It's not the horse that unsettles me..."

"Sorry, my lady?" he asked when he heard her beautiful voice but didn't catch her words.

"Nothing. Let's go." She looked up at him and smiled before settling her foot in the stirrup and he pulled her up to sit across his lap. She settled against his chest and wrapped her left arm around his waist to have something to hold on to. She breathed in slowly and relished in the warmth of his body. The wind had become stronger and the sun was settling, making the weather inhospitably cold.

Éomer had taken off his armour when he decided to help Néela with her chores. Now he put on gloves and wrapped his cloak around the pair of them to warm them up.

_Well this was another ill conceived idea,__ you idiot, _he thought as she wiggled against him and sighed. _Oh no, please sit still. Down, boy! Damn. That feels so good... No! Think of Gríma, for pity's sake. Gríma isn't here, you know. Néela is... Traitor.  
_

She was finally warm and well on her way to dosing off when she snuggled against the warm, firm chest and sighed in content. Something pressed against her left thigh and twitched. She stopped short at the feeling and opened her eyes. _Is that...? Oh my goodness. _Glancing up at Éomer, she saw his set jaw and overly focused gaze. _Poor man, what am I doing to him? He'd be mortified if he knew I can feel him. But he must be hung like a horse by the feel of it! _She blushed crimson and closed her eyes again, pretending to relax, if not sleep. _Bad girl. Oh, but it is kind of funny though._ She smiled and tried for the life of her not to giggle for the rest of the ride into town. _at least I am not the only one who feels this attraction, then..._

* * *

**Thank God for spell checker. Let me know if I missed anything. Or if you have an opinion on the chapter :) That would be nice too.**


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

When they arrived at the inn in Gulfar, Éomer had to wake Néela, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He watched her for a few moments and then kissed her brow before softly saying, "Néela, time to wake, my lady. We're here."

She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. She looked at him blearily before a sleepy smile spread on her face. "You're really here! I thought I'd dreamt it again. Damn teasing dreamsss..." And she started to doze off again.

Éomer was stunned. Did this mean that she had dreamed of him as he had dreamed of her? Or was she just still asleep and in her own reality? Not being one to jump to conclusions, he decided to leave such questions for another time when he could actually get an answer from her that wasn't inhibited by sleep. He lifted his right leg over Firefoot's head and slid down from his back with Néela nestled in his arms. She didn't stir when he landed on the ground softly.

"Wait here, boy. I'll be right back," he said to the horse. Firefoot just walked over to the nearest trough of hay and wheat and started munching.

Walking towards the inn, Éomer relished in the feel of Néela in his arms. She wasn't heavy by any means, but he could tell that she had a strong body. She'd had no problem lifting the heavy tub of water after washing, and now that he held her close, he could feel her soft curves against him and her strong back and legs on his arms. The contrasts between her softness and beauty and her strength of body and mind fascinated him, as he was only used to a world of hardness, weapons, men and horses.

Of course there was Éowyn, but even her situation he approached with a sense of pragmatism. He loved her dearly, but it was his responsibility to keep her clothed, fed and safe, and he took this very seriously. She would not want under his watch, and so the sense of unyielding duty that he had enveloped his life in had also applied to her.

But this precious creature in his arms did not fit under his senses of duty. She was soft, alluring, charming, wise and absolutely beautiful to him, and he felt himself being pulled into her every time her eyes met his. He wanted this purely for selfish reasons, he realised. He wanted that certain feeling of being alone in the world with her, the feeling of possessing her and being possessed by her that he had dreamed of so many times since he first met her. And not just in the physical sense. That would be amazing, no doubt. But it was a feeling of belonging with this one woman, that he had never before experienced, and that he truly felt drawn to.

As he entered the tavern, a shrill voice cut through the stale air, "Néela! My poor child! What has happened? Tell me! Do we need a healer?" A portly matron rushed towards Èomer and nearly collided with him in her rush to get there.

Not even Néela could have slept through her mother's shrieking, and she awoke quite confused and startled. "What? Where... Oh, my lord, there you are," as if it was he who had been temporarily absent. "I am awake now, you may put me down. And stop yelling, mother. I am quite fine. This gentleman just made sure I got home comfortably and I fell asleep." _In his arms... Dreaming of him._

Néela's mother abruptly stopped. Surprised, she looked the man over from head to toe and saw fine clothes, albeit some of them were mended, he had strong chest and arms and a handsome face. She also saw the green cloak and deduced that he was a rohirric warrior. When she spotted the sword at his side, her eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary weapon of a soldier. The pummel was pure gold and shaped like horses reads, twisting around the blade; Guthwíne was a mighty adversary and a sword fit for kings.

"Welcome, my Lord. I thank you for assisting my daughter. Might I ask your name?" the portly woman said.

"I am Éomer, son of Éomund. A pleasure to meet you, my Lady." Éomer took a hand to his heart and gave a small bow.

"I've heard that name before, to be sure. But I cannot quite place it. Oh well, it will come to me soon enough. Come, let us get some warm food into you. You look like you could need it."

"Thank you, but I would request a few moments to take care of my horse, first. He has travelled far in the snow and deserves rest. May I put him up in your stables, please?" Èomer inquired.

"Yes, of course. Shall I make ready a room for you also, sir?" Néela's mother was in full service mode now and was mentally checking their customer into the guest book already. "For how long may we expect your company?" She said as Èomer nodded at her.

"I will stay for a few days, but then I must return to my duties along the mountain root." He decided. It would be hard to leave, but his conscious would eat at him if he stayed too long. This would be a new situation for him as his work had always been his relief from speculations and not the thing that took him away from relief, as it would probably be in a few days.

"Allow me to help you with your baggage, Éomer," Néela said. They went outside to get Firefoot into the stable and none of them saw the startled and suspicious look on her mother'd face.

She had remembered that Éomer was the king's nephew, third marshal to the mark, adopted son of the regent and third in the line for the throne of Rohan itself! And her daughter had just called him by his first name as if they were old friends. This was not the prospect for her daughter, she had first believed him to be.

If they were to become involved, Néela would eventually be left to fend for herself. The marshal would not be permitted to leave court to settle down in a village, and Néela's stature would prevent her from joining in with his life at court. And who would want a woman who was well past her age and even used goods, as it were? No one, that's who. Such were the realities of life.

The matron decided that she had to nip this in the bud before more could come of it. Nobody suitable would look twice at her daughter if she hung on the impressive marshal's arm, so the mother would make sure Néela was too busy to spend time with him.

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The next day's evening Néela lay down her towel after finishing the last of the dishes. The last two days had been an endless line of chores and work, and her mother had been there with a new task every time she finished one.

"I'm going to take a break, mother," she called through the kitchens. Her mother was tending the bar, she knew.

"I need you to start chopping the vegetables for supper, dear," Her mother replied.

Néela's temper was starting to boil, which was never a good thing. "You do it yourself! I haven't had a decent break or time to myself for two days now. What is going on, mother? The tavern is cleaned from roof to basement, all the laundry is done, the dishes are done, I've been to the market and we're well stocked, so you and father can surely tend to the seven guests in the inn without me for a few hours."

"Fine, I will cook supper, but then you have to change the linen in the guest rooms in stead, as that was what I had planned to do." Her mother had her back to her as she nonchalantly kept her daughter busy, and boiling. "We all need to pitch in when having such a formidable guest, you know. It's not every day we have royalty staying here, after all."

Néela paled and stared open mouthed at her mother's back head. "You know?" She asked.

"Yes, I know. I told you I would figure it out, dear. Now please go do as I said, and I'll get started on supper. And you need to keep your nose to yourself and not chase around after nobility, my girl. Nothing good will come of it." With those stern words she turned and headed to the pantry.

_That... That SHREW! She's been slaving me solely to keep me from Éomer! I can't believe her! Ugh! _Néela stomped out of the kitchen to go to the linen room. Let it never be said that she neglected her chores. Never! Even though she was furious enough to set the entire linen closet on fire spontaneously. She swooped through the occupied rooms as quickly as she could, changing sheets and linens as she went. The rooms' occupants were either downstairs eating dinner or out doing whatever in the village.

She entered Éomer's room after knocking and not receiving an answer. The sheets had been newly laid on the day prior when he had arrived, but her mother's orders were orders to be followed, no matter what. So she pulled the linens off and put the fresh ones on. considering for a second, she gave into vicarious pleasures and buried her face in the soft cloth, inhaling his scent.

"Néela? I was just washing up for dinner. What are you doing in here?" Éomer's startled voice pulled her from her reverie.

"My lord! I did not know you were here! I... I was just changing the sheets." She stuttered. _And sniffing them. You don't mind that strange bit of strange behaviour, do you? Valar, where are his clothes?_ Her eyes widened when she saw that he was only wearing a large towel low on his waist and was damp from a bath. The inn had warm and cold plumbing which could be used by pumps in every washing room. Pity there wasn't enough water for laundry too.

"Why? what's wrong with them?" Éomer was puzzled. He was certain she had had her face buried in the sheets when he came in. Had she been crying?

"Mother's orders. She seems to think that you would be accustomed to clean sheets every day, and does not want to drop below the standards of the golden hall, my lord." She had lowered her head and was staring at the carpet at his feet, blushing furiously.

"Néela, I have a request for you," he said as he stepped closer to her and lifted her chin gently to look her in the eyes. "Can we dispense with the titles when we're in private? I would like very much for us to be more than strangers." His brown eyes pleaded with her. "And your mother, kind as she is, is mistaken if she thinks I require more luxury that any other traveller. I am merely Éomer here."

Néela let go of the breath she had been holding. "I would like that too. But Éomer, my parents will not approve. Mother even told me to stay away from you, though that is not what I wish to do."

"And what of your wishes, my sweet? What do you wish to do?" His voice was low and the close proximity of his naked skin had an intoxicating effect on Néela. The muscles of his strong torso were evident and the skin looked smooth under the moisture of his recent bath.

She dropped the sheets and slowly reached up to touch a drop of water that had gathered and was travelling south on his chest in a lazy pace along a white scar. At her touch, Èomer shifted his hand and cupped her face. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. When she put her finger with the sinful water drop into her mouth to taste it, Éomer swallowed hard. "Valar have mercy, but I am lost in your beauty."

He leaned closer to her and watched her face closely. As her eyes opened to catch his and her rosy lips parted a fraction, his resolve crumpled and he kissed her firmly with all he had, though careful enough to not bruise her. His free arm found her waist and he pulled her gently to him. He meant to put all of his desire and admiration for her into that kiss, for he might never get another chance. The emotions he had been feeling when around her doubled and sent a deep bolt through him. If it was desire, madness, fury, fear or love, he did not know. All he knew was that the wave of emotions would crush him and wash him away if he did not hold onto this woman.

Néela was lost in the sensation of his warm hand on her cheek and the smoothness of his chest under her own palms. She had her eyes closed when instinct told her to taste the water drop from his skin. It would surely tell her of its travels.

As she heard his words, she was certain that she was once again dreaming, although this dream was far more visceral than ever before. The sounds were clear, in fact she could even hear her own heart beating slightly faster than the deep thumps coming from the wide male chest before her. The smell of the soap that had recently been on his skin was spicy and new to her, but it made her head feel like it was spinning. She opened her eyes and looked into his, only to see a burning desire that made her knees weak underneath her. And then he kissed her.

Sight, sound and smell disappeared for her. All that was left was touch and movement. The touch of his lips pressing against hers, the touch of his hard body along her softer one, the feel of the water drops as they penetrated her clothes. His arms holding her firmly and the movement of her own arm sliding from his chest up around his neck, the other moving slowly south towards his waist.

Her hand entangled itself in his hair and Éomer deepened the kiss, seeking access to her sweet mouth. She granted his request and as they tasted one another, warmth and tension pooled in Néela's stomach like she had never before experienced. The sensation slowly moved further downwards and she mirrored the movement with her hand on Éomer's toned body. When her hand reached his towel, however, he grabbed her wrist gently and broke the kiss.

"We have to stop, my love." He whispered as if in pain. "The temptation is too much for me and I do not wish to bring you harm in any way."

"Then don't release me, Éomer, for I have left my heart with you and will surely perish without it." _Did I truly just say that?_

"I won't... Néela! If you only knew how often I have held you in my dreams this winter." He pulled her into a close embrace and gave a relieved chuckle. She soon followed suit, "I thought I had gone mad," she whispered.

"Then I am right behind you, my love, into the abyss," he laughed and kissed her hair fondly.

"I like the sound of that," She said.

"What, madness?" He joked.

"No, of course not. The sound of your voice calling me 'love', it is sweet to my ears."

"I will never stop unless you ask me to." He said in earnestness. "I should get dressed, and then I would consider it an honour if you would grant me your company at supper, my lady love?" He released her and gave a silly bow.

Giddy, she curtseyed quickly and said, "I will meet you in the dining hall, my dear lord Éomer." She turned to walk out the room, but stopped before the door. "We might have to keep it a secret for now, though. Trouble will soon enough come to us." Then she left the room to go set up dinner.

Not long after, she had procured two plates of dinner and two glasses of wine from a very suspicious matron in the kitchen. Setting out into the tavern as if to serve the meals at the back of the room, she spotted Éomer by the far fireplace. He gestured her to sit, so she did, looking first over her shoulder.

"You know, Néela," he said as he took her hand in his, "I don't agree that this should be a secret. My heart tells me to shout it to the world that I have found you. I can understand if you want to tell your family about this discreetly, and i will respect that. But please don't ask me to deny my feelings for you to the public forever." Slightly frightened that he would have scared her off already, he let his thumb caress her hand while looking into her eyes, pleading for understanding.

"I will tell my family, Éomer, but what of yours? It is not my heritage that worries me here. What will the king say if you tell him your feelings for a peasant girl? Like it or not, you are third in line for the throne, and though much would go wrong before you were king, Rohan has never had a queen of common rank before. Or so they teach us at school, at least. And it would break me to see the man I loved with another woman due to rank and birth."

"But that is a lot of far fetched 'what ifs', not yet relevant, maybe not ever. I am of royal blood, yes. But only distantly by name and adoption. My mother was the king's sister and my father a common soldier. Still they married and lived well with each other, albeit under some protests in the beginning. Right now, I am not king, nor am I going to be. I am a soldier and a man, asking a woman to let him court her, freely and openly. Please?"

Néela considered him for a moment. "I couldn't say no even if I wanted to. And I don't, I really, really don't want to." She smiled at him. "But let us tell my parents tonight, so they won't hear it from others."

"Agreed. Now, I would like you to tell me the true story of how you took down five fierce dunlendings all by yourself. I have heard the strangest tales while staying in this tavern, I tell you." He sat back and began his meal, a smile evident in his eyes.

"Oh. That." Her face fell, as it was not a fond memory of hers to think of.

Éomer stopped short at her demeanour. "You mean to tell me that the stories are true? That they were trying to drag you off to rape you and you beat them all to a pulp? Five of them??" He was outraged at the thought of someone touching her against her wishes, but awed at the thought of her fighting them off.

"No, no, not at all. I didn't beat them into pulps, I merely incapacitated them. Effectively. Then I ran and hid in the stables for an hour. Very brave of me indeed! These old ninnies need to stop gossiping if you ask me." She said with regret and a bit of venom.

"They assaulted me with words and threats at first, and when they grabbed me I went into a fit of rage. Red. I can't explain it, really. I knew what I had to do and they never expected me to fight back, I think. So I caught them off guard and one by one they went down. That's it, really. Afterwards, I Cried my eyes out and cleaned myself up in the stable, like I said. Got the rest of the night off from my mother too, lucky me." She joked.

"I wish I could have been there for you, dear one. But I am glad I wasn't there when they assaulted you." He lamented.

"Why is that, Éomer?" She was utterly puzzled at his statement.

"I know this rage, you speak of well. I let it take me every time i ride against the enemies of Rohan. Usually I can control it enough to take prisoners for interrogation, but if I had seen this situation with you in danger... I would have killed them, Néela," he said in earnest, "to protect you. Even if it had been with my bare hands, I would not have been able to control it, and it would have frightened you to see it, as well as your family, I suspect. This rage is not something i wish to unleash in civilized areas."

"I think I understand that," she said, "I was ashamed to come back in here and face the people who had seen me, and I had only broken these men a little bit. Well maybe a little more than a bit... I'm pretty sure one will walk with a limp for the rest of his days, and another might not be able to produce offspring, thank goodness!"

Éomer sputtered into his wine and laughed loudly at this. "My warrior princess! Remind me never to cross you!" He was still chuckling to himself when he said, "I am truly proud of you, Néela, even though I may not have any claim to you yet. But it sounds like you are in need to defend yourself far too often, so I would like to teach you a few more skills if you like? Perhaps some with light blades that can be easily hidden?"

"Oh I would love that!" She exclaimed. "Will you teach me before you leave?"

"Yes, I will. Valar knows when you will get into your next fight, and I may be gone for months before returning."

They finished the rest of their meals in comfortable silence, occasionally casting a glance or a smile at each other.

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"Madam, I would like to court your daughter, and she has given me her consent in this." Éomer started the awkward conversation.

Néela's mother sighed, "To what point and purpose, lad? Where you go she cannot follow, and vice versa."

"I do not see that it is so. My mother married a common man herself, and I see great quality in Néela. She would not want for class in Edoras, I assure you."

"Your mother was not in line for the throne, son. I cannot give my consent, I am sorry. Truly." The elder woman said, and Néela's head sank.

"But I can," Her father spoke up. "Néela is in need of a good man. Èomer is such a man and he can provide safety and standing for her. Yes, I think this is a good thing indeed."

The young woman fell around her father's neck and laughed in joy. "Thank you father, thank you!"

"I have conditions, though." He said though her thick hair. "If tragedy should strike and you do become in direct line of the throne, you must cut all ties to her. We all know that she is not of noble blood and will not be considered for the throne. And I will not see my daughter become the lowly mistress of our king. Such is my demand." He directed at Éomer.

"Agreed, sir. Thank you." He took Néela's hand and led her outside. "Let's go find you a pair of good fighting knives, my love. I leave tomorrow afternoon for Edoras, and I want to make the most of our time together."

"Then, my lord, I suggest you kiss me and celebrate with me this evening. Then, we train until you must leave." She raised herself to her toes and gently kissed his smiling lips in the cold February night. Neither felt the cold wind or heard the cat calls of passers by.


	6. Chapter 6

**Let's get this story moving. Out of my five pages long, handwritten story outline, we have now ventured through two lines, give or take...**

**Thank you for reviewing, It's a true pleasure to see that you read and enjoy this. Otherwise, I wouldn't write it... :)**

Chapter 6

When Éomer left Gulfar he travelled east for another week before turning north to the Entwash and following the slow, frozen river back to Èdoras.

The journey had all together taken him two months of being in the snow, but he thought it was well worth it. He had gained so much when Néela had given him consent to their courtship. Now he only had to plan when he could see her again. Until then, they would write letters and send them with the merchants that were always going back and forth with wares.

"Brother, welcome home!" A happy, but tired looking Éowyn greeted him when he entered the great hall. The hall had changed since he last saw it. There were heavy drapes on all the windows and a thick, heavy incense burned on the roaring fire. The heat was stifling.

"Éowyn. How are your studies?" Éomer asked her after giving her a gentle, armour clad hug.

"Interrupted. I had to leave the houses of healing a month ago to tend to our uncle. He is not well at all, and the snake is always in his ear, gaining more power over the rule of Rohan every day. I know not what to do. Oh, Éomer. I am so sorry I could not do more to hold the fort when you were gone."

This worried Éomer. "What about the rest of the council? Surely they would not let him overrule them all?"

"I do not know for sure. I was forbidden to join the last council meeting, as I am neither a council member or in line to be regent. But afterwards, Gríma disbanded the council and sent them to their home regions to 'govern each area under the king's rule' as he put it." Èowyn shook her head in defeat.

"The worm is wise," Éomer pondered, "for that was the original purpose and wording of the council when it was first established and elected. But they also have a function that says they must be advisers to the king, and this they cannot hope to do from the provinces. I'll wager that the worm sent them away so that he became the only voice in Théoden's ear, the only influence on a sickly ruler, and maybe through him, he could gain power in Rohan. Still, the council should have resisted and held onto their duties as advisers as well as appointed administrators. Damn these politicians!"

"What will you do, Éomer?" Éowyn asked.

"I will take control of my éored under our cousin's command. That way the worm will not have our army, at least. That is all I can do in my position, sister." He lay a hand on her shoulder and gave her a solemn nod before leaving to find Éodred.

Éowyn stood watching him as he left. _Something's different in him. I don't know what and I don't know how I know, but I will find out. There has been a shift of some sort... _

Winter came and went and gave way for a tenuous spring with ample amounts of rain and mud. The rohirrim were getting ready to ride out with the éoreds and the bustle in Édoras was great. Horses and men alike had grown fat and bored once all preparations and reparations were done, and that had been many weeks ago. All of them now longed to be out in the open again.

Éomer was certainly one of them. Since his apparent fruitless scouting mission in the winter, he had not been able to come up with a legit excuse to leave Édoras, where he was now more needed than ever. He had vigilantly written letters to Néela every week, and had received letters from her with the same interval, but intimacy was a hard thing to accomplish by written word when they hadn't experienced more time together than a few heavily supervised days.

As a result, Éomer knew of all the daily comings and goings in Néela's life, and she had been privy to some of the more complicated intrigues and politics at court, but as far as their relationship was concerned, they were at a stand still. Closer friends, perhaps, but nothing more could be built on paper. Éomer even felt awkward to tell her how much he missed her, because he had only spoken to her a handful of times and touched her even fewer. But he did.

He was taking his men east along the Great West Road to the East Fold where many villages lay. It was a patrol to ensure that all the people there had survived winter satisfactory and to see to that their defences were up to par, should the orcs attack. Éodred was heading North towards Fangorn, then west to Isengard, patrolling the West Fold. Ten smaller hunting parties spread out in every direction from Édoras to track down and eliminate orcs.

When his men were ready, Éomer called out; "We ride east for two days! Move out."

With an excited murmur, the éored turned and headed though Édoras towards the open plains and hills.

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Two days later the éored was approaching Gulfar at a leisurely pace when Éothain rode up next to Éomer.

"You have been more quiet than usual, my lord, which in itself is saying something. Moreover, you have failed to turn your usual grumpiness on myself or the men, so I figure something is on your mind?"

Éomer shot him a sharp look, which Éothain just grinned at. "I see I am right, then! Tell me what it is, my friend. I may yet be of assistance to you."

"Well... How much do you know of women?" Éomer looked positively uncomfortable as he decided to share his burden with his childhood friend.

"Women I have plenty of experience with. But I doubt that we are talking about several women here, as much as one particular one?" Éothain looked shrewdly at his usually stoic friend. "The difference is like night and day, my lord," he said grinning from ear to ear.

When Éomer looked ahead contemplating, Éothain couldn't hold back his curiosity. "Who is she, pray tell?"

The marshal glanced sideways at his captain before finally saying; "Do you remember the town Gulfar that we took liberty in in the late fall?"

"yes....?"

"Do you remember the girl in the inn who served us and got Méol in trouble with me?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked at the memory.

"Really, my lord? I mean, sure, she was attractive enough to look at, but you cold have anyone with your rank and family." Éothain was not an elitist, but he knew that Éomer had more than his fair share of admirers of very fine breeding in Édoras. Of course there weren't many secret affairs in such a snake pit, so he knew his marshal had never had an eye for any of them, to many an ambitious maiden's chagrin.

"And if I don't want anyone, but only this one, how would I go about it?" Éomer finally asked. He knew Éothain had a reputation for being a ladies man.

"Do you mean to keep for good, or to get a good roll with?"

Éomer snapped his head around and pinned Éothain with a glare of fury, but before he could say anything, Éothain continued on, hands raised but otherwise unperturbed. "I didn't think so, mind you, but I had to ask! So you mean to court her. Have you asked her permission?"

"Yes, and her family's as well. But I have not seen her for months, and our letters have been too platonic to derive any conclusions from."

"You sly fox! When did you do all this?" Then it dawned on the young captain. "Oh! Your scouting mission this winter! No wonder you didn't find the orcs. You didn't think they were sitting in the inn in Gulfar, did you?" At this Éothain gave a bark of laughter.

Èomer was glaring by then. "Do you mean to help me or mock me? And of course I didn't look for orcs in Gulfar, you ridiculous man! I was only there for two days."

"So you mean to tell me that you are smitten with this girl even though you don't really know her? And that she succeeded in two days what others have tried to do for a decade? I'm impressed!" Éothain whistled lowly. "Well, I'm afraid you are going to start from the bottom. Give her flowers, take her on walks or picnics. I'd advise against poetry, it takes a very confident man to pull that off. Oh, and tell her how you feel, man. Even if it's only in a letter when you are apart."

"Right. Thank you." Éomer looked even more troubled than before, so Éothain added; "But don't listen to me, my friend. I've never played this game for keeps you know. Charming a woman is easy if you know how. It's keeping one happy that is the hard part, or so I've heard." With a chuckle he turned his horse and fell back into the ranks again.

They rode into Gulfar half an hour later with children running in front of them and waving up at the riders. Éomer was nervous, he finally admitted to himself. What if her feelings had cooled or worse; What if a local suitor had caught her eye. Surely he was not the only one to see her beauty and charm.

When he dismounted in front of the inn, he saw her standing outside the door with her hands folded in her skirts and her eyes at the ground. She still looked healthy, if a bit paler than before. He approached her like he would a skiddish mare, carefully and with his eyes firmly down cast. When he stopped before her she looked up and into his eyes. A smile spread on her face and he breathed in relief.

Next thing he knew he had her arms wrapped around his neck and he embraced her tightly.

"Néela," he whispered to her ear. "How I have missed you!"

A shiver went down her spine as she felt his hot breath on her neck. "And I you, my lord. I thought you had changed your mind towards me because of the tone of your letters."

"No, love. I am just a terrible writer," he smiled into her hair.

Néela noticed that all the men who had previously been chatting and getting off their horses had gone completely silent. They were all gawking at their marshal as if he had just told them he was going to wear women's clothes for the rest of his life, some disbelieving, some shocked.

Then Éothain gave a loud whistle and started clapping and the rest of the éored soon followed, shouting well wishes and cat calls in jest.

"The cat's out of the bag now, love." Éomer whispered as he kissed her temple and took her hand, walking over to Firefoot. "Can you put us up for the night? We have to leave again tomorrow at mid day."

"So soon?" She asked disappointed.

He raised her face with his index finger to look into her beautiful green eyes. "I am on duty right now, Néela. It will not always be so. After this patrol I have a month off and I intend to spend as much of it as I can here with you. Or I would take you to Edoras with me if you wish it?"

"Certainly, my lord! I have only been there once as a girl with my father." She smiled up at him as they entered the farthest stall in the stable, the one that was fast becoming Firefoot's regular room.

"Good. Now say my name and kiss me woman, for I have not the time to be a lord today, only your Éomer." With this, he grinned wolfishly and trapped her between his arms against the wall.

She looked at him from under hooded lids, took a hold of his armour to pull him to her and whispered, "Éomer..."

His lips descended on hers with a hunger he had never known was in him. All he wanted was to feel her in his arms again, to taste her and breathe her in. As he pushed her against the wall, she broke the kiss. "Éomer, if you must crush me, I would prefer that you remove your armour first. Then I shall never complain again."

Indeed, he could not feel her against him with the heavy armour on. He found the buckles and slid the armour and braces off in thirty seconds and next tore his ring mail over his head and had her back in his arms before she could take a second breath. Never had his gear been so dismally handled.

He had her shirt untucked and was touching the soft skin at her waist before he had time to think about it, the taste of her overwhelming him and rendering him without coherent thought. Néela gasped and threw her head back at the sensation of his warm hand caressing her waist and back under her clothes. Éomer willingly took the invitation and assaulted her delicious white neck with open mouthed kisses and gentle bites, eliciting a throaty moan from her.

The sound made him hard fast and he pressed his body into her, still stroking her back and nibbling at her throat until they were rudely interrupted.

"Ahem," A voice said at the stall's door. "Better not let the men see your horse still in tack and saddle, your armour in the hay and you at the house keeper's skirts, if you want my advice, my lord. It might be bad for morale." Éothain winked at the pair and left the stable whistling a cheerful tune.

Éomer once more had his hands on either side of Néela's head and was breathing hard as he held his forehead against hers. She was also breathing like she had been running, and the sight of her breasts heaving up and down in her bodice nearly undid him again. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "What are you doing to me, woman?" He asked, bewildered.

"Whatever it is, Éomer, you will surely hang right by my side for it. I wish he had never come in here! But maybe it was best that he did. Let's get this fellow comfortable and then we can go see if we can find somewhere to be alone. I'd like to show you what I have been practising at with my knives too." She smiled.

"Somehow the thought of you swirling around with knives, sweating and sparring with me doesn't make me more presentable to the public, my dear." Éomer said ruefully.

"What?" Néela looked down at him and realized his predicament. "Oh! well I have the remedy for that."

Before Éomer could ask what she meant, she had turned around and grabbed a bucket of cold water and emptied it over the marshal's head. He sputtered and looked at her completely incredulous. She in turn was laughing harder than ever, until she saw his expression. Then she squealed and ran from the stall with a roaring marshal at her heels.

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**Tell me if it was rushed, boring or felt like the filler it probably was. Or tell me if you want more.**

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	7. Chapter 7

**Lemonade ahead! If you are too young or this isn't your thing, then click away, please.**

Thank you so much for reviewing my last chapter! If you didn't, you still have the chance ;)

Chapter 7

She was walking through the young forest at the root of the mountain. These times to herself were some of her favourite ones. Every now and again she was sent out to gather mushrooms, herbs and spices for the kitchen, and she always rode to this place to do it. The soft breeze whispered through the crisp green leaves, the birds and animals of the forest were singing their songs for her, the cool creek was clucking quietly and the sun was on her back. When she was hungry she ate, when she was tired she slept, and when she was hot, she swam in the lakes and the streams. It was truly peaceful and she loved it.

Sitting down by a creek on a soft patch of moss with her back against an old willow tree, she took out her paper and colours and began to paint the scenery before her. Painting was a pass time she had occupied herself with ever since being a little girl and it often got her so caught up in the moment and the details that she forgot about time, all her troubles and her tedious chores gone in her own little world of shapes, shades and colours.

For this very reason, her mother had strongly suggested that she didn't indulge herself in dallying with her hobbies in the daytime, or perhaps took up more useful skills such as knitting or sewing. But her passion and her talent lay in painting. Making her inner landscape become material and viewable in detail made her fantasies more accessible to her own scrutiny and earned her many compliments from those who saw her work.

As the day became hotter, Néela let her mind wander as she drew and painted her time away. Barely conscious of what she was doing, she hummed a small and beautiful tune she had learned from a travelling bard once. The bard had told her that the song came to his mind when he heard her voice and he thought that the notes would suit her perfectly. He was right.

When her stomach growled later in the afternoon, she saw that she had let time run away from her again. As she was gathering her pictures, she realized that there was one object that had become a constant in them. In every picture there was a male presence which had never been there before. Sure, she had painted pictures of her lost brother, her father and her friends, but this one was neither, and he was in every one.

One picture had been of herself in the forest, painting. It was viewed from the other side of the creek, over the shoulder of a strongly built warrior who was watching her while leaning against a tree trunk. Another had been of the man, sitting on a horse and riding away from the viewer. The third was his eyes, and this one sent pleasant shivers through her.

The list went on as the pictures grew more and more intimate. Details of the man and his body that Néela didn't even know she had retained had filled onto the paper, and fantasies of situations she had never been in were depicted in tasteful and sensual scenes making Néela's own eyes widen in surprise.

_These are some of the most beautiful pictures I have ever made, but I would be mortified if anyone saw them.__ A shame, really. But I will still keep them for myself for lonely hours. They pale in comparison to your touch, though. Come back soon, Éomer. I miss you. _She thought while her finger tips caressed a picture of his face, smiling gently up at her.

She rolled up the parchments in a leather binding and put them in her pack. Then she took out a roll of bread and a few fruits and ate her belated lunch while watching the insects dance on the water's surface. When she was done eating, she rose and went to the creek to drink and wash her hands and neck. The water was refreshing and cool, but she could still feel her clothes sticking to her back with the sweat of the day, so she decided to go to her favourite swimming spot in the forest.

It was a lake, of sorts. The small stream came from the mountains with fresh water and the trees, tall grasses and water plants thrived in clusters around the edges of the lake, giving the place a very secluded feel to it. The plants in the lake cleansed the water of dirt before it flowed on through the woods. There were also a rich wildlife in and around the water with fish, deer, birds and many many other species of animals.

Néela undressed and stepped gingerly into the cool water. As the water reached her midriff she gasped and ducked all the way under to get the shock of the temperature change over with. Once this was done, she could enjoy the refreshment. She started swimming, diving to the deep bottom and floating in the surface with the sun on her face. Laying in the surface with her arms stretched out and her ears under water, she sang her song again, amused of the way the water distorted the sounds of her voice.

She swam for about an hour before starting to grow tired. Then she found her soaps and oils and sat on a large flat rock a few metres out in the water, where it was shallow enough that she could sit with water to her waist and wash her hair. She hummed as she worked the soap into her long tresses and massaged her scalp gently. When she was done, she leaned back and put her hair under the water while swaying from side to side to rinse the soap out, closing her eyes at the sensation.

This was not effective, though, so she stood up on the rock and dove head first into the clear pool. Diving to the bottom, she swam through the tall water grass and let it tickle her body. She broke the surface, laughing in glee and swam back to the rock to apply the scented oil to her otherwise unmanageable hair.

As she was rubbing in the oil she suddenly got the strange feeling that she was not alone. The forest animals were still chirping and minding their business, so she was not worried as such, but the feeling still persisted.

She scanned the shore of the lake before her but found nothing out of the ordinary. As she was about to contribute the feeling to her over active imagination, she heard splashes behind her, coming from the lake. She turned around fast, ready to defend herself in case she was being attacked.

The splashes had stopped, and when she located the source, she let out a gasp and let her guard drop, in stead trying to cover up her nudity and ducking her body under the surface level.

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The tour of the East Fold had taken far longer than Éomer had hoped. Orcs were everywhere and they had lost many good men to the campaign. It seemed that the farther Northwest they travelled, the more orcs there were. They had even encountered the monsters in broad daylight, some that were larger and stronger than the usual beasts.

When they had returned to Edoras, the news had been even more depressing and sometimes downright horrifying. The West fold was nearly overrun with fowl orcs on wargs and almost half the villages there had been raided before the rohirrim could even get to them. The villagers and their families had been slain and had had their heads and limbs severed.

Some of the riders had been driven mad from the sight of mutilated children, and even the seasoned warriors had been strongly affected by the gruesome sights. Not a soul had been left alive in the raided villages, the livestock had been taken and what couldn't be carried out had been set on fire.

Yet, the campaign had been completed and they had hunted the orcs until they could find no more of them, even though it had come at a heavy price to the éoreds.

Now, Éomer was finally on leave and had set out to go to Néela as promised. He could not wait to see her again. He had started writing her every night by the fire, but not having been able to send the letters to her, it had taken the style of a diary in which he confessed all of his daily experiences, thoughts and fantasies to her, not really intending to ever let her see the letters. His skill in writing had improved massively since his last sent letter to her.

He had been a day's ride out of Edoras when he had been attacked by a small band of wild men. Firefoot had taken out two of the eight men with powerful and well placed kicks to head and chest. The rest had fallen before the wrath of Gúthwine and the marshal. Only one had survived long enough to beg for his life and telling Éomer that they were employed by the white wizard to strike back at the horse lords. Éomer let him live, knowing that his wounds would finish him off before he ever reached help. The man was grateful enough for this, as he was not accustomed to being shown mercy by his enemies.

The scrapes and cuts Éomer had received during the fight needed tending to and the heat of the day drove him to seek shadow in the woods, he saw a few hundred metres up the hills, so he turned Firefoot and the majestic horse trotted willingly forward at his masters command.

As he entered the forest a strange calm fell over him that he had only ever felt in the presence of Néela, a magic calm that let him breathe freely and soothed his tired muscles. Firefoot must have felt it too, because he slowed his pace to a walk and his gait lightened so it felt as if the horse was flowing through the leaves. The ground soon became uneven and moss covered with ferns and dead wood making the path hard to navigate on horseback. Éomer heard a stream further up ahead and dismounted as he took the equipment off of Firefoot. "Stay close, I'm going up to fill the water skin and tend to my wounds. Up there," he told the horse and pointed ahead.

He didn't know if the horse actually understood him, but it had always worked in the past and Firefoot never ventured farther that he could hear Éomer whistle after him when he was again needed.

Éomer climbed up the moss covered rocks and through some tall grass and under brush, and to his relief he found a clear lake when he parted the tall grass like leaves. The water was cool and clear so he took off his armour and boots to go fill his water skins. As he stood to his knees in the water he decided that the best way to clean his cuts as well as the rest of him would be to just jump in and bathe in the refreshing pool, so he carried his water back to shore and undressed. He slid into the water quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere or the animals that were by the lake. The cuts he had received were all shallow and had long since stopped bleeding, but needed to be scrubbed free of dirt and sweat in order to not become infected. He had seen strong men succumb to fever from insignificant cuts that had not been tended to.

As he finished washing up he heard a voice humming, carried across the small lake. It came from around the bend on the other side of the water and the melody was hauntingly beautiful. The voice was clear and varied in tones. It was definitely female, and it reminded him of none other than Néela herself. This thought brought him further out to the deep of the pool and he swam towards the voice, hoping to discover where it came from.

He came around the bend and then, he saw her.

Naked as the day she was born, she was sitting in the water with her back half turned against him and her hair over her shoulder where she was massaging soap into it. Her body had a sun kissed tint to it, but was still smooth and pale to look at. The arch of her back was a picture of perfection as she drew back her hair and started rubbing the soap into her scalp.

He stopped dead in the water and found the bottom with both feet, turned away and closed his eyes for the sake of decency. But the image would not leave his mind. Again and again he saw her slim waist and the lightly defined muscles that followed her back from the surface to her hair line. The colour of her skin as it glistened in the water and sunlight. the shape of her neck and shoulders and, Valar help him, the outline of her breast as she lifted her arms and arched her back.

It was all he could do to not swim the last 25 metres to her and ravage her like a mindless beast, so he grabbed onto a few of the water plants to steady himself. After what seemed like an eternity he finally thought he could focus on something other than the image of Néela in the water and had gained his ability to think.

She had been unarmed and too far from her pack to be able to defend herself, should she be attacked. And stunningly beautiful as she may be, what if someone other than himself had seen her in her current state? Would she still have been safe from harm?

_Yes, _he thought, _focus on the safety matters in stead of how the soap travelled lazily down her back like a lover's touch. And the way her voice sounded - still sounds - when she is washing herself. The sight of her hands on her neck and in her hair and what those hands might feel like, running through my own hair. Across my body. And lower... Wait, where was I?_

A loud splash shook him from his day dream and he reflectively turned to see that Néela was gone. He started franticly looking around the lake when she appeared not far from where she had been sitting, laughing in a crystal bell voice that once more captured his imagination.

The temptation and the need to make sure she was safe overtook him and he swam towards her as she was applying something floral scented to her hair. He saw her stiffen and look around when he was almost there. He hadn't made a sound until then but decided to make himself known in order not to scare her, so he took strong strokes to get within 2 metres of her and then he stood up.

As he stood, she turned and saw him and immediately covered herself and pushed off the rock so her modesty was covered by the water. "Éomer!" She exclaimed, "what are you doing here?" Suddenly she was angry because she thought he had followed her in her private moments in her private surroundings.

Éomer had raised his hands in surrender at the furious nymph before him. "Néela, please. I came from the other side of the lake where I was just tending to a few wounds. I heard you sing and I came to see what you were doing. I didn't mean to intrude. Peace, my love."

At this, Néela's fury disappeared. "You are wounded? Where? Let me see." And before Éomer could answer, she had dropped her hands under the surface and was in front of him, looking up at him as he was standing with water to his chest and she was half crouched in the water.

She held his arm and started searching for the alleged wound when he closed his eyes tightly and gasped out; "Please, Néela! I am only a man. Have mercy, for pity's sake!" The sight of her so close to him and her touch on his skin nearly undid him. She had been under water, but she had not thought about the water being clear as glass and therefore not really covering her visually.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you?" She asked, thinking that she might have aggravated his injuries. She lifted the arm and inspected a small cut along his ribs. As she gingerly touched him, he exhaled and opened his eyes to look at her.

To say that his eyes were smouldering would have been an understatement. "No, I am not hurt. But you are naked in front of me and more beautiful and tempting than anything I have ever seen in my life. Convention would have me turn away from you to ensure propriety. It's like putting a starving man in front of a feast and eating in front of him after threatening him to death, should he touch the food."

He crouched down next to her in the water and took her hands. "Your touch sets me on fire and the way it feels makes me wish there wasn't any water left in the world to douse the flames. So I ask you to have mercy on me. Remove temptation from me or let me burn in the bliss of your love. You must know; I am yours. That will not change either way, but I beg you to tell me what to do, for I cannot think straight in your presence."

Néela looked at him so close to her, so powerful and absolutely at her mercy. She was completely swallowed up in his presence and the look in his eyes. "I am yours, Éomer. There is only you and I here. And I want you, so much..." As she spoke she slowly pulled both set of arms out from between them and closed the distance. She didn't touch him at first, but leaned in close to absorb the warmth radiating off of his body.

He still held her wrists in the surface in a feeble attempt to sustain some sort of control, but he had been captured by her and consumed by his own need for her the moment she spoke. She was so close he could feel the temperature of the water between then changing, getting warmer. The blood was pounding in his ears and emotion was ripping in his chest. _Let me burn... Let me burn, love. Don't turn me away, I will not survive it.  
_

She let her lips touch the junction between his neck and shoulder and felt him rather than heard him moan, the vibrations in his chest travelling easily through the water. As she slid her cheek up the side of his neck, her chest came in contact with his, eliciting a shock effect, running through her body, starting at her nipples and ending at the back of her skull and between her legs.

His muscular, tanned form dazzled her and the sheer size of the man before her made her slightly breathless and dizzy. Her eyes caressed every shape and ripple of his upper body, and after her eyes had had their fill, she let her lips follow, sowing light butterfly kisses along his scruffy, well defined jaw and slowly down the side of his neck. She followed his collarbone to where it connected to his shoulder and continued down his biceps to the inside of his elbow.

The nagging voice in the back of her head, that said she wasn't allowed to do any of this until she was married, had been increasingly drowned out by the excited, tense and dazed feelings inside her and the perfection of the man before her, ever since Éomer had confessed his feelings for her. It finally died as she let her lips follow the tendons of his lower arm.

Éomer only watched her as she kissed her way down his arm to his hand, that still held her wrist. As she kissed his pulse point at the wrist, he let go to caress her face in reverence. He drew his thumb over her moist lower lip and as she looked him straight in the eye, she drew in the finger and sucked on it.

Éomer nearly lost his mind, he could feel something akin to the madness of battle creeping up on him, but he would not let it take him while he was with her. Though he had no idea how she had become such a skilled seductress, he was sure that she was an innocent, and not keeping restraint on himself would hurt her. He would die before that happened.

Slowly, he pulled his finger from her lips and let his hand follow the line of her long wet hair from her forehead, down her neck and across her collarbone. He looked up at her eyes as if asking her permission and saw that her green eyes had gone dark with desire and her pupils had dilated so they almost swallowed the colour of her irises.

This creature who had so easily caught first his eyes, mind and heart was now in full possession of his body as well. He wondered for a brief moment if he had been lured in by some mystical creature of a long forgotten tale, but quickly came to the conclusion that if she ended up devouring him after her seduction of him, it would have been well worth it. Sporting a slight smile at the thought, he captured her lips and savoured the taste of his nymph. It was sweet and fresh with the hint of fruit and elicited a burning thirst in him for more. His one hand slid down to cover her soft, full breast as the other let go of her other wrist and snaked his arm around her back to pull her to him.

Néela was overwhelmed. She had never in her life felt so much at once both physically and emotionally. She lost her bearings and could not have told up from down if asked, when her body was pressed against her love and her mouth was claimed by him. She would have wept if she hadn't been caught up in the feeling of his hand kneading her breast, making her see stars.

Her hands were following the smooth lines up and down his back and her insides clenched as she felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her lower stomach. She let her instincts guide her and wrapped first her right, then her left leg around his waist, making him groan again, this time loudly. His arms tightened around her as he lifted her up to sit on the rock behind her.

She pulled him closer ans crossed her legs behind him, holding his body completely to hers and slowly sampling the taste of his tongue on hers as they wrestled for dominance. The kiss was gentle and savoured, slowly building in intensity until it became a slightly frenzied, primal act of tasting, licking, kissing and biting softy.

Éomer had been positioned at her entrance when she hugged him tight with her long strong legs and he now tried to push into her slowly. Her slick hot walls clenched him tightly and he found her barrier almost immediately. He knew that it was going to hurt her if he wasn't careful, so he drew back under moaned protests from her and bent down to take her right nipple into his mouth while kneading the other breast and pinching her gently.

Néela threw back her head and lay with a fully arched back in the surface of the water while Éomer gave her pleasure by sucking and nipping at her breasts. The back of his hand slid down her body, making her stomach clench once more. When he reached her core he pulled back a little to access her sweet centre. He started to gently slide his palm up and down against her in a slow rhythm until he felt her hooded pearl.

He positioned his thumb above it and slowly slid his middle finger into her core while watching her face intently. Her eyes popped open and she gasped as she tensed around him. As he gently rubbed her pearl and started sliding in and out of her, her eyelids became hooded and a moan escaped her; "Oh yes, right there..." She grabbed his shoulders and held on to him for dear life.

Slowly, he increased the pace a bit and added another finger, again making her walls clench, but not more than she could handle. When she whimpered and told him to go faster, he added a third finger and increased the pace until he could feel her muscles starting to spasm. He pressed up towards her pubic bone while still keeping his thumb rubbing in circles, making her scream out in rapture as she came around his fingers in shocks of pleasure, spreading from her centre and making her heart beat hard and slow.

She came down from her high while he was rocking her gently in his arms, whispering sweet nothings to her and kissing along her neck and ear. His one hand was cradling her head while the other was holding her close to him. He was still hard and willing against her, nudging her thigh every time she moved.

"We don't have to go any further if you don't want to, Néela. My precious Néela..." He told her as he gazed lovingly at her flushed cheeks and her berry coloured lips. Her eyes had turned bright green again and he had trouble averting his own eyes from the sheer beauty of her.

She cocked her head sideways and scrutinized his face with an open expression for a while before her eyes broke into a smile. She kissed him sweetly and said, "Make love to me, Éomer. Please."

He didn't question her as he lifted her up and carried her out of the water to lay her down on the soft moss on the brink. For a moment, he leaned back to let the sun bathe her slight, wet form. He touched her throat and slid his fingers over her heart and down her flat stomach in silent reverie. Leaning forward, he crawled up her body until he reached her face.

He kissed her softly at first while positioning himself on top of her. She drew up her knees by instinct, cradling his large, taut body, drawing him home. "It will hurt for a moment, love. But I promise it will soon pass." He told her. "Do you trust me?"

Néela suddenly felt a bit nervous, but nodded at his question. His lips descended on hers in hunger and as he pushed through her barrier, he bit down on her lower lip, making her moan in both pleasure and pain. Néela then gasped, and as her already tight walls clenched around Éomer, he nearly spilled himself into her.

All movement stopped when Éomer gave her time to adjust to his size. He licked a single drop of blood off her lip and gently kissed her until he felt her relax. A tear rolled down her temple and this, too, he kissed away. She stroked his back and slowly, gently started rocking her pelvis when she felt the pain decreasing.

The pleasure from before in the water started building between her legs, making her toes curl and her finger nails dig into Éomer's back. He soon increased his pace and released her lips to attack her throat with nibbles and licks and as the pace grew, so did the tension inside her and the friction between them. She climbed fast to that magic high and when she crashed once more, she drew her nails across his skin hard, eliciting a loud groan from him as he shook and exploded inside her, following her over the edge.

As soon as he gained conscious thought, he raised himself up on his elbows in order to keep from crushing her. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back down to her. "Where do you think you are going, if I may ask?" She said with a smirk on her face.

"I thought I was crushing you...?" He asked.

"You are, and I'm loving it. Don't move yet, please." She smiled as he lay back down and wrapped his arms around her in a blissful sigh. He did roll onto his back and drew her with him in stead, though, with her body sprawled across him, her cheek resting on his chest. and his hand gently stroking her hair.

They lay basking in the sunlight for a while until Éomer was sure Néela had fallen asleep.

"I love you." He told her.

All he got in return was a deep, contented sigh from a dreaming Néela, and a happy smile spread across his features.

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**Then he woke up... jk ;)  
**

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	8. Chapter 8

**I would like to give a shout**** out to GypsyWitchBaby, kycatsfan, whisperoak88 and Fire Black Dragon. Thx soo much for reviewing repeatedly guys! This one is for you.**

Chapter 8

They stayed for 3 days in the forest, gathering the herbs, spices and fragrances Néela needed. At night they slept under the stars by the fire, holding each other. They shared stories, told jokes or just enjoyed the silence and the sounds of the forest. They played under the trees like children during the sunlit hours and lived day to day, chasing and teasing each other. They found food and hunted what they needed when they got hungry.

Néela learned not to wake the marshal abruptly when he was dreaming.

One night, he had been sweating and twitching, his eyes moving under his eyelids and he was mumbling to himself. When she shook him gently and called his name, he had awoken with a roar, throwing her down and pinning her by her neck before he realized who she was. Éomer was of course horrified at what he had done, even though she assured him she had only suffered shallow bruises that would heal in no time.

After that, she sang to him in stead when his dreams turned evil. It had a much better effect and soothed him immediately.

Éomer, on the other hand, learned that he could have whole conversations with Néela when she slept. And she never lied or held back information under the veil of night. He found out how much he occupied her mind in the same ways she did his, and how vivid her fantasies really were, when she one night confessed to having painted him. The next morning he asked her about it, and she timidly showed him the pictures she had made in the forest.

He had been awestruck by her talent and skill, how she captured the mood of a moment and how she pandered for every detail of the surroundings, the motives and the expressions of love that were depicted.

They had made love again that day under the whispering leaves.

When it finally became time to leave, they packed up camp and went to find the horses. They had roamed somewhat free throughout their masters' stay in the forest, but stayed close to safety as the herd animals they were. Èomer and Néela found them grazing together by the edge of the trees and easily called them in.

They reached Gulfar within a few hours and headed for the inn. After putting up the horses and giving them a good helping of oat, they went inside hand in hand. The usual cozy and chatty environment had gone from the room, and as they entered, everyone looked up at them from their doings.

A boy dressed as a squire rose and hurried over to them. "Thank goodness you are alive, my lord. We thought you might have been attacked somewhere," the boy said with relief lighting up his features.

"Well, I was attacked by wild men on my way here, but that was several days ago. I've been camping in a forest ever since. I was under the impression that I was on leave and didn't need to tell anyone where i went." Éomer replied in a puzzled tone. "What's going on?"

The boy suddenly looked uncomfortable under the marshal's scrutiny and looked at the ground before him. "I was sent here to tell you that you are needed in Edoras, my lord. The king's son has gone missing since his last mission and the worst is feared. They need you to ride out on a search party."

"I see." Éomer was none too pleased about this news. Théodred failing to report home could only mean one of very few things, and none of them were pleasant. _Damn! This was supposed to be my time with Néela. What will she think when I just leave her and break all my promises to spend time with her?_

Just then he felt her cool smooth hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. "It's all right, Éomer. Go find your cousin. I'll be here when you return." She smiled a sad smile, but looked him straight in the eyes as she caressed his face, committing it to memory once more.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her fiercely, chocking every patron in the bar. They expected Néela to fight back and render the marshal incapable of reproduction for the blatant disregard of boundaries, but were even more surprised when she threw her arms around him and reciprocated.

Éomer held her close and whispered endearments into her hair while caressing the base of her neck under her thick golden mane. "I will return as soon as I can. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine and back before you know it. Néela, please wait for me while I'm gone."

Néela heard him whisper into her hair, but couldn't make out the words. She paid it no mind, but simply enjoyed being held close, breathing as one and feeling his heartbeat under the thin layer of clothing. She inhaled his scent and enjoyed the feeling of his large arms squeezing her tight.

When he finally let her go, he kissed her sweetly one last time and said; "I'll be back in three or four weeks at the most and I'll send word if I am detained. Farewell my sweet."

"Until we meet again, Éomer." She smiled at him through tearful eyes and let him go even though it ached inside her to do so. "May the Valar speed your journey."

As he turned to leave her, she heaved a heavy sigh and went to unpack her things.

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They had been riding for 5 days through the East Fold looking for Theodred and his men, when they came to a river and found the remains of a massacre. There were uruks and riders lying dead and maimed everywhere and the stench was unbearable. Rotting flesh and waste from dying men and creatures in the summer did not make for a good breathing environment, and it didn't help that no wind was moving in the hot, foul air.

The flies, crows and maggots filled the air and the bodies, having had a few days to find the feast and corrupt it. Such was the way of nature, but it made for a grizzly sight to those looking for familiar faces among the slaughter.

Èomer's men looked grim and some slightly green as they moved through the corpses, looking for survivors. A few were openly crying as they had found brothers and comrades among the fallen dead. Emotion was not something the men of Rohan were accustomed to hiding, and there was no shame in showing grief for a lost friend. On the contrary, it was considered an honour to the dead if they had been loved enough in life to be mourned when passing to the halls of their forefathers.

"Spread out, and find the King's son!" Éomer shouted. This was obviously the éored they had been sent to find. Dread grasped him at the thought that Théodred had been killed or captured. He had grown up with him and for all intents and purposes, Theodred had been like an older brother to him and Éowyn.

Gods, Èowyn... How would he ever tell her if Theodred was dead? It would break her heart all over again. No, he had to be alive. He just had to.

"My Lord, over here!" One of the soldiers cried out to him. Éomer rushed to the man's side and franticly looked over the body of Theodred, when his cousin let out a painful groan as Éomer touched his side.

"He's alive. We have to get him to Edoras, and fast. Gather up any wounded, those who cannot ride will be carried on sleds, the rest of us will hurry for Édoras. Leave the dead for now. We will return to bury and honour them later." As he looked down, he saw an orc helmet with a mark of a white hand on top.

"Sauman?" He asked in disbelief as he picked up the helmet and tied it to his saddle bags.

The men jumped into action and shortly after they were ready to ride, with the exception of four men, who stayed behind to make sleds for the rest of the wounded. The death toll was staggering, only twelve of the hundred men Théodred had with him had survived the ambush, and Éomer suspected that the number of dead may yet rise.

_Saruman is behind all this. He will pay for his treason. As I live and breathe, he will pay!_ Éomer thought as he held his fading cousin close and raced towards Édoras.

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Néela had been working hard since Éomer had had to leave. She wanted nothing more than to be distracted from her own mind, because it caused her an almost physical pain to think about him now. There was no logic behind it, only a gaping hole inside her that screamed at her for not being close to him. It had never been there before, this need. And of course she couldn't very well talk to anyone about it.

Her mother had been outraged when she had heard of 'the kiss' Éomer had given her when he said goodbye. She had yelled and lectured her about the proper way for an unwed maiden to behave when being courted, and had fretted about what rumours and gossip would do to the family name now that people knew how promiscuous their daughter was. Her father had not spoken a word to her since that day, but had only given her a disappointed stare and then turned away from her. And all that was just over a kiss.

Her father's reaction had hurt her more than all of her mother's ravings combined. After all, it had been her father himself that had approved of the courtship in the first place. What had he expected? that the marshal would read her poetry, give her flowers and ask her father for her hand before ever touching her?

The very thought almost made her giggle, until her thoughts once more turned to the look in Éomer's burning gaze when he had seen her naked at the lake. the feel of his lips on her mouth, her neck, her breasts and the furious, all consuming passion with which he had made love to her... No, poetry readings definitely did not fit into that picture.

_And where was I? Work, yes, work is good. Go kill a hen and pluck it for dinner. Work or die from longing, girl. How long can four weeks take, anyway?? Usually it takes four weeks. __Ha ha, very funny. That is twenty-eight days, right? Right. Well, it's been twenty-six already, and.... Wait,_

Néela stopped in her tracks and counted backwards. It had been 40 days since her last time. And Néela had never missed one before. Realization hit her like a herd of angry bulls.

_Oh no. No, please no!_

She slowly started running and sped up as she bolted down the street until she was out of the village and headed for the river. Several people jumped out of her path and yelled after her as she sped past them, but she didn't hear them. When she reached the river, she turned and ran through the high grass, gasping and panting, trying to fight down the panic. Finally she had to stop for air and she fell to her knees, staring at the ground with a wide eyed expression and hugging herself in an attempt to hold herself together.

Her gasps were in real danger of turning into sobs, but she fought it hard. _No, it could just be because I've been working harder than usual. Or because of my emotional state. Women miss their monthly bleeding all the time when something unusual happens to them, right? _

_Yes. And also when they're pregnant. Remember that day in the forest? _

_Shut up!! _

_Fine, if you think THAT will help..._

She was now sobbing quietly, thinking of what her family would say when they found out. What the rest of the village would do. It was not the first time an unwed woman had gotten with child, and she had seen with her own eyes how cruel the treatment of those women was.

They were shunned by everybody, as nobody wanted to be associated with such a person of low morals. Néela had heard her own mother verbally abuse one such girl in front of the entire clientèle of the tavern, when the girl had come asking for work to support herself and her baby. The girl had been utterly humiliated and had left the tavern with a defeated demeanour and a bent back as everybody laughed and shouted at her.

The eleven-year old Néela had collected a bag full of food and clothes and had found the girl with the baby, huddling in the dry hay behind the stables. When her mother had found out, Néela had received the beating of her life for stealing and helping the 'despicable whore', as her mother had called Maria. Néela hadn't understood, but she had been too afraid to help Maria again. The next day she was gone.

"Néela, is that you? What's the matter?" She heard a male voice call out to her, followed by hurried footsteps through the grass. She jumped and franticly tried to dry her eyes before the man reached her side.

"Erling! Hi. I didn't see you there. I'm fine, don't worry about me." She blabbered in a frail attempt to make him go away. Erling was a young man of nineteen who had always had a soft spot for Néela despite her being five years his senior. He had never made any advances, though, and when news of the marshal's courtship had spread, he had given up any potential pursuit of her. But he still considered himself a friend to her.

"No you're not," he frowned as he crouched down in front of her and studied her face. "You have been crying. What happened? Did someone hurt you?" He had a quiet way and an honest concern for her, which caused her tears to start falling again.

"I'm not hurt, I promise. it's just... I..." She then started crying in earnest and Erling collected her into a careful, protective hug as he sat down in the grass and let her cry herself out. When her breathing finally evened out and the tears abated, he loosened his embrace and looked at her.

"Tell me." He prompted. "I'm your friend and I want to help you."

Néela looked at him for a few moments, drawing a blank as to what to say, until she blurted out, "I'm pregnant." She clapped both her hands over her mouth in surprise over her own words. As soon as she had said it, she knew it was true. _I can't believe I just told him that! I'm dead!_

A frown spread across Erling's features as he took in the news. "How far along are you?" He finally asked her.

"I... Two weeks, I guess." She stammered. "I just realised it today."

Relief flooded through Erling when he heard this. "Oh good. Then there's plenty of time for the marshal to come back, ask for your hand and for you to get married before anybody notices anything. Babies are born early all the time in this place, as I'm sure you've noticed. Your secret is safe with me." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Don't worry, Néela. It will be alright."

"M.. Marry me? But... oh, ancestors help me. I never wanted it to happen like this. What if he doesn't want to marry me? We haven't known each other for very long, you know. What if I get shunned? How will I survive?" She started fretting.

"He will. We've all seen how he stares at you, Néela. He adores you. And he obviously can't keep his hands off you either." The last thing was said with a crooked grin and a wink as he wiped the tears off her cheeks. "hmm. I suspect that I will have to call you 'my lady' before the year is over," he pondered.

"Erling, are you making fun of me?" She asked incredulously.

"noo, never!" he mocked, while slowly backing away from her. "I wouldn't dare. I know how insane and hot tempered pregnant women are..." As he saw his words dawning on her, he turned and fled from the screaming and cursing banshee that Néela had suddenly become. _At least she's finished crying_, he thought, running harder as she was gaining on him. _But what a foul mouth on her!_

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Meanwhile, Éomer was riding north across the plains with 300 men, having been banished from Rohan, his home and country, which he had served faithfully all his life. The worm had out manoeuvred him and now had the king completely under his spells. When Theodred had come back mortally wounded, Gríma had immediately sought to eliminate the next biggest threat to his own power over the throne of Rohan; Éomer.

The situation was desperate, and doubly so for Éomer personally. When he had realised that his cousin would not survive his wounds, he knew that he had become next in line for the throne; The one situation he never wanted to happen. It meant that he would have to give up Néela, as he had promised her father upon his honour. The thought nearly killed him and despair took him every time the thought revisited him.

It was this horrible anguish that had caused him to lose his temper with the worm and assault him in the hall of his uncle. Not that it made any difference, the papers had already been signed by then. But he would never had lost control in that way if he had still had the confidence that Néela was his. He now wished he had killed Gríma, so that Éowyn at least would have been safe from him.

Poor Éowyn. She had been standing on the steps of Méduseld, cold and hard as a statue when he had made his way slowly out of the city. The worm had been practically drooling at her skirts, but she had remained stoic as she lifted a hand to greet him goodbye, not knowing if they would ever see each other again.

Éomer had never seen her so closed off emotionally before as that day, and he feared for his sister's life. He prayed that she would not succumb to melancholy as their mother had in his absence. She would have to be strong for now. For the king, and for herself.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?" He heard a voice cry out, startling him from his private thoughts. He raised his arm to turn the galloping éored around and face the travellers when he saw a strange sight. A man, an elf and a dwarf, all on foot and all looking very much travel worn.

As his men surrounded the group and pointed their spears at them, Éomer approached them and asked; "What business does a man, an elf and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

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	9. Chapter 9

**Ok, so fun fact: I have 18 ppl on alert, 5 of them have reviewed; 2/2 Canadians reviewed, 2/8 Americans reviewed and 1/8 of other or unknown nationality reviewed. Man, you gotta love those Canadians, eh?! Way to go!**

Chapter 9

"There's only one reason why a woman would be sick for two months and still need new clothes because she's getting fatter," Néela's mother said as she was standing in front of her with an accusing finger in her face. "You spread you legs for him before you were married, and now he's run off! I told you, no man will buy the cow if he can get the milk for free! Now look at you. twenty-five, unmarried and pregnant with a bastard child. Your honour is forfeit, and with it, so is ours! Ach!" She threw her hands up in exasperation.

Néela had half expected this day to come, when Éomer didn't come back to her. He had not shown up, nor had he sent a message as to why he was delayed, as he had promised her upon his departure, and every day her hope had dwindled a little more as her belly slowly grew and became visible under her clothes. It was now a small bump under her skirt, large enough that her clothes had started to feel too tight when she worked. When she had asked her mother for money for a new skirt, the older woman had appraised her clothes and noticed her protruding belly.

Oh yes, and then there was the morning sickness. Why they called it morning sickness, Néela had no idea, because her nausea and vomiting lasted all day long, every day. Her worrying and the increasing pain of loss she felt over the fact that Éomer was missing didn't help the matter any.

"You will not stay under my roof. If people find out that we've condoned this kind of behaviour, our business is as good as gone, and where will that leave us??" Her mother ranted.

That got Néela's attention. "You're kicking me out?" She asked, somewhat incredulous, but also half expecting it as she knew society's, as well as her mother's views on bastard children like the one she was carrying. She had hoped that at least her mother would show sympathy for her. Guess not. "Mother, please! No. Don't do this."

"You are no daughter of mine any longer." The portly woman said. She was trying to sound stern, but her quivering lip and shiny wet eyes told of a deep pain at her own words. Néela had never seen her cry in her entire life. "But as you are no daughter of mine, and have worked here for the last 10 years, you will receive pay for your service before you go. We cannot expect strangers to work for us for free."

With these words her mother turned and rushed out of the kitchen, no longer able to contain her grief. Néela sank to a chair in chock. Her world had just been ripped from her. It was gone and she had nothing. Nobody would take her in, she had no means of surviving, other than what her parents might have the good graces to give her, and how long would that last?

And the baby. The innocent life she had growing under her heart. How would they survive? Where would she go when winter came? Would she perish in the snow before the babe was even born? She hadn't wished for a child, but now that one was coming, she loved it with all the natural instinct that a mother could. There was nothing she wouldn't do to make sure her baby was safe.

She held her stomach bump protectively and hummed a lullaby while she rocked gently back and forth as tears streamed down her face.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

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The next day her bags of belongings had been packed along with several thick blankets, warm winter clothes, Blankets for the baby, pots and a frying pan, two long daggers for fighting and a bow with arrows for hunting, riding clothes in leather and new boots as well at a large sack of food. Her parents might not be able to let her stay, but they were going to make sure their daughter had the best conditions for survival. As well as their grandchild.

When her mother came into her room, evading her eyes, Néela spoke to her. "Mother... Thank you for all this. I appreciate it. But I can't carry it with me." The gesture from her parents really had moved her, even though she felt that she had been cut off at the wrists by them.

"You are to take Halla from the stables, along with her bridle and saddle. She is young and steady as well as stout and strong. She will carry you for many years." Her mother still hadn't looked at her, perhaps because the pain of seeing her only surviving child in disgrace and being shunned from her family, perhaps she was just trying to keep from crying.

"Thank you, mother." Néela whispered as she bent her head.

Her mother gave a curt nod and left the room. As she passed the table by the door she put a heavy satchel on the table with the sound of clinking coins. Then she was gone.

tears seemed to be a constant, endless thing in Néela's life lately. They streamed down her face as she put her cloak in the last bag before hoisting the load onto her back and heading to the stables. When she reached Halla's booth, her father came out of it, wiping his face and eyes in his sleeve.

"Dad?" Néela carefully said. She had always had a better relationship with her father than her mother. Probably because her mother also was her 'employer' and a bit too quick to judge and lecture.

"Néela," he said with a rough and wet voice. "I am sorry for this, my girl. I sure wish it didn't have to be like this. But you know we will all be starving by the end of the year if I don't let you go." He looked at her as he placed a giant paw on her shoulder. "You take care of yourself, now, you hear? And my grandchild too, of course. I swear, if I ever get my hands on that bastard who did this to us, I will kill him, king's nephew or not."

He pulled her into a tight hug and Néela hugged him back desperately.

With one last squeeze and a giant sob, he let her go and quickly walked past her without saying another word, breathing raggedly as he went.

Hallareally was a champion among mares and took the extensive packing and loading as one as well. She was born and bred for pulling plows and carts and was a large, calm and sturdy horse with a good heart and a trusting disposition. She wouldn't throw off a rider, partly because she didn't scare very easily and partly because she simply didn't move that fast. And she could move fallen logs and tipped wagons easily, her strength being enormous. She would not feel the extra load of Néela and all of her baggage.

On her way out of town someone shouted her name from one of the side streets.

"Néela! where are you going?" Erling asked when he caught up to her, grabbing the reigns on Halla and making her stop.

"They found out, Erling. I'm leaving. It was just a matter of time, you knew this." She said in a monotone, distant voice. "He's not coming back for me..." The last thing was said mostly to herself.

"Wait, Néela. There has to be a way out of this. First off, you should know; Éomer didn't leave you of his own will. He was banished from Rohan under pain of death. Apparently he is a traitor to the crown or something such nonsense. I really don't believe anything that comes out of Édoras these days." He told her.

Néela startled as she heard his name. "He's banished? How do you know? How long have you known?? Where is he?"

"I was just told this morning by a merchant who came from Édoras. I don't know where he is, but if he sets foot in Rohan again he will be executed by the king's orders." Erling had an open and honest face, and Néela could tell he was being completely honest with her.

"Then it is all for nothing. I cannot go to him, for I don't know where to go and he cannot come to me as it will cost him his life. I thank you for telling me, though. It will keep me strong in the months to come to know that I was not abandoned by him. You have been a good friend to me, Erling, and i wish you well." She turned Halla away from him and continued down the road.

She hadn't gotten far when Erling stopped her again. "Néela, wait! The town doesn't know yet. You could marry me, and I would take care of you! Nobody would ever find out that the child is Éomer's and you wouldn't have to leave."

She looked at him through sad green eyes. "You are a true friend, Erling. To be willing to sacrifice your happiness and reputation to protect me from my own mistakes. But I will not be responsible for ruining your life as well as my own. This is where i repay your friendship and tell you to go home, live your life to the fullest and forget you ever knew me. Goodbye, dear friend."

Erling hung his head in defeat and stepped aside for her to pass. "Goodbye Néela. May our paths cross again in the future. And good luck to you."

"And to you," She added.

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That same morning was when Gandalf the White charged the battlefield before the gates of the Hornburg with Éomer and his 300 riders, changing the tide of battle in favour of the men of Rohan.

Éomer fought with abandon and a madness that no one had ever seen in the marshal before. He put all of his anger, frustration and heartbreak into that battle until Guthwíne sang in joy at the blood it spilt. No enemy was left alive that day, by sword or by the magic of the ents, every uruk and every orc that had come for blood met their death.

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After having ridden east for several days and slept under the open sky during the nights, Néela arrived in the neighbouring town; Sinddal. It was an opportunity to start over where nobody knew her or the circumstances of her single, pregnant status. She would be able to go under the assumption that she was a young widow, and the wealth of her possessions would back up this impression as well as the high mortality among young riders in éoreds all over Rohan in the last few years.

So that was the story she had planned to tell the people of Sinddal in order for them to let her earn her keep in an honest way. The absolute last resort would be to prostitute herself, but she didn't know if she would be capable of that. After all, she had run away to escape the stigma of being a 'loose woman', and prostituting herself would only serve to prove those accusations right.

She asked a young girl for directions to the town hall or public gathering place and was directed towards the eastern end of the village. As she entered the town hall, she quickly realized that Sinddal was a bit different from Gulfar.

Even though it was noon, the curtains were drawn and around the tables were hard looking men either dunk or sleeping off last night's bender on benches or leaning across the tables. The town hall obviously served as the town tavern, and a seedy one at that. The place was in dire need of a thorough cleaning too.

Néela went to the bar feeling a bit out of her element as the tavern back home had been her back yard, so to speak, and this place felt very strange and hostile to her. She caught the attention of the tender after waking him from a nap and asked if there was any need for help in or around the village.

"Sure lady, there's always need for fresh meat over in Cora's place, if ya catch my meaning? No? Well then the town's washing lady has taken a fever and is getting along in age. You could always check up at her house on the other side of the market, see if she needs help with her work, yeah?"

This was good news indeed to Néela, although she didn't mean the old lady any ill will.

"Thank you, sir. I will head over there right away." She turned and felt a bit lighter at the prospect of honest work, even though it was a hard and unpleasant job.

"Come back any time, ya hear?" She heard the sleazy bartender call after her. In another situation, the greeting would have seemed friendly, but for some reason, the man made chills go across her scalp and down her spine in a very unpleasant way. She would be sure to keep her knives with her at all times from now on.

When she came outside, she saw that the vultures were closing in on Halla, figuratively speaking. Several men in worn and torn clothes were trying to get closer to the horse, who was irritably trying to keep them away from her. Néela ran to the scene while pulling her knives out of their sheaths.

"What do you think your doing with my horse?!?" She yelled at them.

"We weren't doing anything to the horse, sweetheart," a tall, skinny redheaded man told her. "She got loose of her ties and I thought we'd try to catch her before she wandered off. I mean… You probably wouldn't want to lose that pack she's got on her back, right?"

Néela sighed and put away her knives. The man was telling the truth as far as she could tell, her hackles must just have been up from her encounter with the bartender. Or maybe they were just up in general at the moment.

"Then I owe you my gratitude, sir. And an apology; I'm sorry for suspecting you," she said. "I'm Néela, what's your name?"

"Uldred, and this is Tanef and Hoden," He nodded to his two companions. "We just came home from Helm's Deep."

"Oh? What were you doing at Helm's Deep?" She asked, more to be polite than because she was actually interested.

Uldred looked taken aback at this. "You haven't heard of the battle? Well then I should tell you. Will you join me for a meal at the Three Legged Bull? My treat." He offered.

"I'm sorry, I have to get over to the washing lady's house to seek employment first."

"Gertrude? Sure, she could use the help. But come over afterwards, it really is a great story if I say so myself. The king's heir swooping in to save us all from certain death and everything!" He grinned.

Néela found herself smiling at his enthusiasm. "Alright, I'll meet you there. Where is it, exactly?"

She got directions to both Gertrude's house and the Three Legged Bull and went on her way with Halla.

As she rode through town she soon found out that she had so far only seen one side to it. The streets changed from being muddy and lain with straw to being cobble stone with drains for the water and the houses became painted and two storied, some with shops and crafter's houses. Women in well sown and colourful dresses were doing their shopping in the market place, where fresh vegetables and fruits were available along with a bakery, butchery, tailor shop, blacksmith, carpenter's shop and many more.

Néela found that her spirits had lifted considerably since leaving Gulfar, and she started to picture her future in this town. She felt hopeful for the first time in months. Perhaps she could even try selling her paintings to add a bit to her income.

Gertrude's house was easily found, and as she knocked and entered, she heard a vicious cough from the adjourning room.

"Come in! I'm sorry for not greeting you properly, dear, but I'm a bit under the weather for the time being, I'm afraid." An old woman, looking half dead already, told her.

"Oh, it's quite alright, madam. I Have actually come to seek employment, you see, I heard you might need a hand?" Néela said. "I'm Néela."

"Ancestors bless you child. I'm Gertrude and I do indeed need help. I got sick a few weeks ago, and my orders have been literally piling up on me in the back shed. Can you wash?" The relief on the old woman's face was obvious.

"Yes, madam, I have washed plenty before, never missed a spot," Néela smiled.

"Good. You're hired, then. And if you can cook and clean a bit, I also have an extra room you can stay in. These old bones just ache at the mere thought of hard labour lately. Damn old age!" Another coughing fit assaulted the poor woman, and Néela grabbed a cup of water for her. When the coughing abaded, she pulled the blankets up around Gertrude's chin as she drifted off to sleep.

She found the empty guest room and proceeded to unpack her belongings and put Halla up in the one of the two booths in the stable. The other booth was occupied by goats that had free access to a small grassy enclosure at the back of the house. _Guess there's a bit of goat tending in the job description as well, _She thought. _It should be easy enough… Now, where was the Three Legged Bull, again?_

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	10. Chapter 10

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Chapter 10

"So then the marshal is ordered to find the king's son and his riders, which he did, All massacred in the West Fold, save a few. The king's son was mortally wounded and the marshal brought him home to the hall where he died a few days later…"

"But you said that the king's heir came 'swooping in and everything'. How could he swoop if he's dead?" Néela interrupted, confused.

"Ah, the prince died, but the next in line for the throne now has that title. The third marshal, Éomer, the king's nephew will be king when the the old bugger dies. If he survives that long, that is. Soldiers do tend to have a nasty habit of dying in battle." Uldred told her in a simple and factual way.

Néela paled. Éomer was the heir. No matter what, he could never be with her, to that he had given his word. If she thought his banishment had been bad news, this was infinitely worse. Banishment meant that she could have found him and had a chance with him. Now his honour stood in the way of their union, not to mention his duties to Rohan. He would never shirk his responsibilities to the country and it's people for her, this she knew for certain.

But she still loved him.

"Tell me everything," she pleaded with Uldred.

"Right, well as I said, the king's son died from his wounds, and for some reason or other, the king's adviser had the marshal banished under pain of death, which seems pretty stupid to me, cause who would then be there to take the throne after Théoden? Anyway, these travellers arrived, a man, an elf, a dwarf and a wizard! I'm not making this up, I swear!" Uldred exclaimed when he saw the dubious expression on Néela's face.

"They threw out the king's adviser, you know the one who had Éomer banished? And the wizard did some sort of hocus pocus to the king and made him all better! Next thing we know, we're being ordered to empty Édoras and make for Helm's Deep because the wizard in Orthanc has supposedly turned against Rohan." He was waving his hands dramatically and captured attention from several of the Bull's guests.

"So, we travelled to Helm's Deep, and the trip was no picnic, I tell you. We were attacked by wargs and lost a lot of people, including one of the travellers, He fell off a really high cliff. He was supposed to be the heir to the throne of Gondor. I'm STILL not making it up!" He threw his head back and laughed at the ludicrous nature of the story.

"Then, after we made it to the Hornburg, the raggedy ranger shows up again, much worse for wear, but alive, and tells us that there is an army of 10.000 uruk hai on their way to destroy us all." At this Néela gasped and her eyes widened at the horror they had had to face.

"As night fell and we were preparing for the fight, and you won't believe this, a whole regiment of elven archers showed up, armed to the teeth and scary as half gods. They were awesome! But when the orcs breached the wall in a gigantic explosion, most of them were sadly killed. May their forefathers welcome them, wherever the elves go. All night we fought the horde. We were loosing the battle and the orcs were banging on the gates to our last defences when dawn broke."

"I tell you I have never been so afraid in my entire life. I knew for certain that my death had come, as did every man, woman and child barricaded inside those caves. Théoden decided that we would be better off deciding our own fate and encouraged us to ride out with him and take as many of the beasts with us as we could, for blood and honour." Uldred had lowered his voice and now had glistening eyes.

"We rode out to see the vale overrun and red with blood and bodies, but as the sun rose over the hill, the White wizard, Mithrandir and Éomer with his three hundred men stood and saw us battle for our lives. They swooped down, yes swooped," he said with a glint in his eye, "and the orcs were pinned between the hammer and the anvil."

"Those of the enemy who ran away were swallowed up by trees, that had appeared over night, and were somehow alive and mad as hell, because not a single beast survived. I have no idea how that works, or how to pis off a tree, but there it is." He leaned back with a satisfied grin at the awed face before him.

"I suppose to piss off a tre, all you'd have to do is climb it with a full bladder…" Néela contemplated, her mind reeling from the fantastic story she'd just heard.

Uldred's face fell completely before he roared with laughter. When his eyes teared up and he ran out of breath, he finally managed; "P… P… Piss off a tree… Oh, that was precious! I haven't laughed that hard in ages. Drinks are on me, Néela. What can I get you? Wine?"

"Oh. No, thank you. I'll have a berry juice, please." She smiled and her hand went to her stomach unknowingly.

Uldred looked a little puzzled and then; "Oh… Oh! Wow, you'll have to tell me your story after I get it the drinks. I'll be right back." He hurried to the bartender.

Néela blanched. This was not what she had had in mind when she went to hear Uldred's story. If she could, she would prefer not to tell anyone the details of her life as of recently. It would be much preferred to her if she didn't have to evade questions, weave misunderstandings, or even outright lie. She couldn't lie to save her life.

As Uldred returned with their mugs, he sat down and looked expectantly at her. "Well?" He enquired when she didn't volunteer to start the conversation. "Where are you from? That's a good place to start."

Néela looked at him, unsure as to how much she should divulge to the skinny man. He seemed straight forward, but so was her own mother, and she had still turned her out.

"I'm from Gulfar, born and raised. I fell in love with a man who asked my father to court me and got consent at that. The man was in the king's army, and when he was called to duty this summer, he disappeared and I haven't heard from him since. I recently found out that I was pregnant and left Gulfar to avoid the suspicion and stigmata that goes with being a single mother." She breathed out heavily.

"Well, I'm sorry for your troubles, Néela. And let me be the first to welcome you to Sinddal then, I hope your man turns up again." Uldred had an infectious and comforting smile on his face. "If you need anything, let me know, alright? Now, I'll just bet that that voice of yours is great for singing. Do you know any songs from your town?"

And that was that. Uldred had assumed that she was widowed in stead of unwed, and had offered her friendship as easily as a flower in his hand. She was both grateful and ashamed to abuse his trust as such, but it was in the interest of her child, so she would bear the burden of guilt as best she could.

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In Edoras, Theoden had convened his new brothers-in-arms to discuss what should be done about the threat of Mordor and the fact that Gondor was fighting it as alone as Rohan had fought the forces of Orthanc. The hobbit, Peregrin Took, had touched the seeing stone of Saruman's and had seen the Enemy's plans to attack Minas Tirith. Or so Gandalf said, at least.

But the forces of Rohan were decimated themselves after years of struggling with orcs, that they now knew stemmed from the wizards betrayal, and the battle at Helm's deep. Théoden felt bitterness at the loss of so many of his men and the fact that he hadn't been able to withstand Saruman's witchery. He had even lost his own son and had not even been aware of it.

He awoke to a nightmare of his proud country at it's knees, it's king a weakling and a shadow of his former self, a broken line of kings, his military all but gone and his people frightened and hunted. And Gondor was nowhere to be seen during their devastation. Were they now to throw themselves at the pyres for a friend that had been absent in such a time of need? No, not unless they begged it of him themselves, he decided.

Gandalf and Pippin left for Minas Tirith shortly hereafter.

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Éomer was in distress. Ha had been stabbed, sliced, shot, beaten, fallen off horses, broken bones and nearly drowned a couple of times, but this, this was worse. He had become idle and therefore there was no relief from his own mind. His heart had been ripped from his chest, and he felt as if his breaths didn't fill his lungs with air, but in stead with liquid fire.

After he had hurried to his room, he slammed the door and barred it, before he leaned his forehead and hands against the wall and gasped out loud for air. He had been named heir this morning. Heir. Néela was lost to him. He had promised her father to leave her be if he was to become in line for the throne.

He knew that it was lightly that he should be named when Théodred died, but his mind had been thoroughly occupied since then and he had somehow retained hope that another solution would present itself before it was too late.

How was he ever going to tell her? The thought of breaking the news to her nearly killed him. To see the tender smile she always had for him, die with his words, and to know that he would never hold her in his arms again, smell her hair or hear her laughter. Kiss her.

The thought made his arms feel weak and empty and his throat dry up like a dammed river. As his world dried out and died inside him, tears spilled from between his clenched eyelids, the sorrow of his loss costing him the control that he had spent almost his entire adult life keeping in place.

His breaths now came in rapid succession, shallow with pain and trying to control his body's responses to the desolate state his mind was in. His heart was beating fast and a cold layer of sweat had gathered on his face and back. He felt nauseous.

_She's all I've ever wanted. The only thing I've ever wished for myself, and I had her. I HAD her, and now she's gone. I can't… I… I can't… I can't… Breathe!_

A sound resembling that of a wounded animal escaped him and he hit the wooden wall hard with a fist in order to redirect the pain in his chest to his hand. It worked, at least to distract him for a second, and then he hit the wall again. And then again, and again, and again.

He let rage take him, it was a relief from the despair, until he at last roared out his anguish and pounded his bloody hands against the unforgiving wood. "NéelAAAAAAHH!!!" He screamed again and again.

When he finally was spent, he sank to sit on his bed and stared deeply into nothing, defeated.

Little did he know that Éowyn had been on the other side of his door the whole time, hearing her beloved brother break down completely, crying silently for him, but not knowing what had caused his violent sorrow.

She knew that if she made herself known to him, he would shut down and resume the role of her protector in the blink of an eye. She would never get him to tell her his troubles that way. But oh, how she hurt for him.

Quiet enough that he wouldn't hear her through the thick door, she whispered, "now is my time to help you, brother. I will see your smile restored, so help me, I will."

With renewed resolve, she straightened, dried her face and went to find Éothain. She had to find out what was going on with her brother, and the captain would know the comings and goings in his life if anyone knew them.

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"A woman? Are you sure Éothain?" Éowyn asked. She had trouble imagining her stout and serious brother trying to charm a woman, let alone open himself up enough to fall in love.

"No, my lady. Not A woman. THE woman. There's a difference, you know. He asked me how to woo her when we were going there on spring patrol. I think he actually had trepidations about seeing her and how to make a good impression on her. But you should have seen their reunion when we arrived!" He grinned at the memory. "There is no doubt that she is special to him."

"And now he has been charged with the future of Rohan, should our uncle perish, so he is no longer free to marry as he sees fit. He's heartbroken! I see, that would make sense. Thank you for clearing this up for me, Éothain. I would appreciate it if you would keep this between us? He doesn't need gossip to make it worse for him." Éowyn was asking politely, but her tone left no room for doubt that she would strike down hard if rumors returned to hurt Éomer.

Éothain lowered his voice to a menacing growl, "Éowyn, you have known me since we were children, and I love Éomer like a brother. What's more, he is my marshal and my general and I owe him my life many times over. I would never hurt him like that, and if you don't know that, you have become just as much a snake as the worm who poisoned your uncle against him!"

Taken slightly aback at the young captain's fierce loyalty and harsh words, she reconsidered his words. "You are right, I apologize. I should never have implied that your devotion was anything less than absolute."

"No, you shouldn't," he said. Then he eased up his stance a bit, "but you have fought many demons these last years, and a life at court is much different than that of a soldier, I imagine. I understand your need to protect him. Just know that I am forever on his side, my lady." Éothain offered her a small smile.

"I will remember that in the future, my friend. Thank you. Really. It's not often I see such loyalty and honesty."

"Any time, my lady." Éothain's trademark grin returned and he bowed deeply before her. She gave a small nod and a smile and left to return to the golden hall.

Just then, Aragorn came bolting past her up the stairs and through the doors of Méduseld. "The beacon! The beacon is lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

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She had been working hard constantly for the last two weeks and was finally getting to the bottom of all the washing that needed done. She had discovered the washing shed behind Gertrud's house, and was delighted to find a well by it. No more would she have to do her washing by the frozen river in winter. And she could work inside. Lovely.

Gertrud was slowly recovering from her illness at Néela's care, but had sworn that she would retire from her work so that Néela could keep the job until life pulled her in another direction. The old lady had gotten Néela's story the same way that Uldred had; short and unspecific, but even though she had looked somewhat suspicious at the information given to her, she had not pursued the issue. Néela was very grateful for this.

So she put her efforts into the labour with vigor and had now reached a place where the work seemed manageable. It had been exhausting with long hours and a lot of very heavy lifting, but it kept her from thinking too much about Éomer, where he was, if he was thinking of her or if he had moved on, if she would ever see him again, if he would ever see his child and so on and so forth.

The nights were not quite as merciful, though. Often, she lay sleepless and when she finally slept, she dreamed of passionate kisses from another time and place, turning to death, fear and loneliness and usually ending in her waking bathed in her own sweat, gasping for air.

Apart from her heavy work load, she also wasn't getting the nourishment she needed, because every time she ate something, the delightful morning sickness made sure she lost it again almost immediately. As a result, she was starting to lose weight in an unflattering way. Her eyes sunk into her skull and her cheeks became pale and gaunt. Her arms turned wiry, even though her belly and breasts still remained plump due to the pregnancy.

One day, when she was yet again washing a load of clothes for the 'finer' people of the town and dreading her coming lunch break, she felt a sharp twinge in her lower abdomen. She stopped and bent over, breathing deeply with her hands on her knees, willing the pain to go away. It did, for a moment, only to be replaced with a violent cramping pain that spanned from her spine to her navel.

_Oh, ouch! What's wrong with me? _She thought as she doubled over once more.

Then she felt the warm blood running down her legs and she panicked. She pulled up her dress frantically and stared as the red stain spread through her undergarments as a harbinger of doom. Not knowing whether to run inside or lay down to protect the baby, she decided that she needed help and hurried to find Gertrud. As she came inside, blood was dripping on the floor behind her, and she was feeling very dizzy.

"Gertrud! I think I'm having a miscarriage!" She managed before her world went black.

The last thing she heard was the frantic calling of the old lady for help at she rushed to the street.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Hello**** my lovelies. **

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Chapter 11

The muster of the Rohirrim had been called, and preparations for war were being made under great bustle at Dunharrow. Every day more men arrived to join the ranks and to fight for the freedom of all the peoples of Middle Earth. Some came because they had seen the powers of evil with their own eyes, some came because they had been told of the exploits of the king and his new friends and some came to see the legends of the kings of Rohan and Gondor for themselves. But most, most came because they had been called and felt a deep bond with their land. Thus was the way of the Mark.

Éomer walked through the enormous camp every day, talking to the men and checking up on equipment, morale and weapons, advising new troops where to get outfitted and fed and generally taking care of practical matters in the army.

A new group of about fifty men had arrived the previous evening and settled at the outskirts of the camp, and Éomer set out to find out if he could be of assistance with anything to the new arrivals. Getting from the king's camp to the very edge of all the tents took him a good hour, as he was stopped many times on his way, being asked this or that. It didn't bother him though, he was glad to be busy once more. It kept his mind from wandering.

He made it to the new arrivals and observed them quietly as they went through their routines of oiling their leather equipment and saddles, tending to their horses and sharpening spears and swords. One man was sewing on a banner that showed that they had come from the East Fold, and Éomer sat down to talk to the man.

The man looked up expectantly at Éomer, but then his face showed recognition before it fell and turned into a vicious scowl. He then returned to his sewing without acknowledging Éomer's presence.

_That was strange,_ he thought. _I wonder what I did to anger him._

Not one to shy away from confrontations without having at least known what they were about, Éomer engaged the man in conversation.

"I'm Éomer. If there is anything you or your friends should need while in camp, don't hesitate to ask me," he started, but not getting a reply. "What is your name?"

"Erling," came the gruff answer.

"How many men have you brought, Erling?"

"_I_ didn't bring any men. Our town has no leader, but we came 53 on horseback yesterday."

"Good. May I ask if you have a problem, soldier?" Éomer finally asked, having had enough of the grumpy attitude.

"Yes, I do. I certainly do," was Erling's honest reply.

"What is it, then?"

"Well, I am from Gulfar, and I think you are an honour-less dog, judging by the way you treat women, Néela in particular. You used her!" He was shouting at the end of his tirade, having worked up enough steam to forget the proprieties of rank. Several of the others in camp stopped what they were doing and looked up at the two men.

Éomer froze at the mention of his love. "What are you talking about, man? I loved her!" He managed to growl.

Erling sighed and slumped down on the log he was sitting on. "I thought you might. It seemed that way... But... She was pregnant when you left her this summer, and her family found out. Now she has left Gulfar, shunned by them and I don't know how she will survive."

"WHAT??? No! No... No, no, no. I can't believe that. Please say it isn't true," Éomer begged. He could only live with leaving her if he knew that she was safe with a chance at happiness, but to think that he had destroyed everything she had ever known, left her to the wolves without reputation or family, it would not stand.

Erling gave a cynical snort at him. "If you have to ask, you know the possibility is there, and I wouldn't make something like this up." He shook his head sadly. "I hope she makes it. She's my friend, you know. You never should have touched her, and then you just left her to deal with the consequences alone."

The words stabbed Éomer to the core and the world spun slightly out of control for him. He rose and walked out of the camp and when he was out of sight, he ran for dear life. If anyone would have seen him, they would be surprised that a man of his bulk could run as swiftly and for as long as he did. He ran until his legs and lungs burned, and then he continued to run.

When his body finally collapsed and emptied his stomach's content, he heard the sound of hooves beating fast against the ground. He didn't turn to look if it was a friend or an enemy. It didn't matter to him. He just sat on his knees, head bowed and his hands in his lap as utter defeat overcame him. He had failed her completely. The one person who had ever made him feel happy and free, and he had abandoned her to be scorned and shunned by her own people because of him. His mind was reeling with self-loathing and regret like he had never felt before.

The horse stopped by him and the rider dismounted. Then he felt a pair of soft arms wrap around him from behind.

He jumped, startled, and then gasped; "Néela?"

"Is that her name?" Came Éowyn's soft voice. Her arms held him tight as he slumped once more and gave in to depression.

"How did you know, Éowyn?" He wasn't sure if he was asking her how she knew that he had left the camp, how she knew it was because of a woman, or how she knew that he needed her right now.

"I'm your sister," she said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "It's my job."

They sat like this, holding each other for a little while longer until Éowyn said, "my foot's gone numb. Come on, help me set up camp. We're staying here tonight and we can go back to war tomorrow."

She rose and shook her leg before she went to Windfola's pack and took out the bedroll and extra blanket as well as wood for a a fire.

"I didn't have time to bring food, but I have water and a bow. I'll go look for game. Sit and rest for a bit and I'll be back soon," she said as she pulled the bow and quiver over her shoulder. She was as proficient as Éomer at hunting, if not more with her slight frame and quiet steps. Éomer resembled an angry bull when he tried to move through brush.

Éowyn came back with two fat hares and started skinning and cleaning them. The entrails she buried a way away from the camp, and then she started the fire to cook the meat in a cow's bladder sack with water and a few spices. The soup would cook for a few hours before being ready.

She sat back on a blanket and watched her brother, who was staring into the fire, unmoving.

"Éomer," she started, pulling him from wherever his mind was. "Tell me about her. When did you meet?"

"It matters not. She is lost to me, and I don't know if I will ever see her again." He said.

"I still want to know. It might help you to talk about her." Éowyn coaxed.

He was silent for the longest time, until he sighed and started. "I met her last November in Gulfar... She was just a serving girl at the inn, but there was something about her... And when she touched me the first time... I can't explain it, Éowyn. She touched my soul. It was as if I was covered in petty problems and dregs of duty and when she touched me, she wiped it away. She was so beautiful..."

"I couldn't forget her afterwards. She was constantly on my mind, and I thought of her every time that worm tried to snake his way into my brain. I wanted to see her again, so I went to Gulfar alone when I went on that scouting mission in the winter..." He told her.

"Yes, I remember. I was wondering what mad demon had possessed you to ride out into the freezing Rohan winter all alone," she said with a soft smile.

"I started courting her. And when I returned to Gulfar this summer, I found her in the forest... She enchanted me. I couldn't stay away. Valar, she is so amazing, Éowyn. I wish you could have met her," he glanced at her.

"I'm so sorry, Éomer. You really don't deserve this."

"There's more..." He said.

"Oh?"

"I have just been told today that... She... She was pregnant when I left her. Now, nobody knows where she is, her family has kicked her out and she is alone with a ruined reputation and no means to live for," he rambled off to get the pain and the shame over with. "I never returned to her after this summer. She must think I left her..."

The thought was too much for him, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Éowyn was stunned by this news. "Oh, Éomer!" she exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth and a deep sadness in her eyes. "Valar, protect her."

"-For no one else will," Éomer finished in a grim voice. "I did this."

They fell silent and watched the flames of the camp fire. When darkness fell and the fire slowed to burning embers, Éomer swore; "When this war is over, I will find her and make sure she never wants for anything. Her and our child. I don't care what the repercussions at court will be, she will not suffer any more because of me."

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Néela was drifting in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the people around her at times but not quite recognizing them. There were voices in the darkness that guided her back from the depths, but something was holding her back. A fear that she had lost something. Something precious. And she didn't want to wake up and find out what it was.

She dreamt of Éomer, smiling at her in a forest clearing, caressing her cheek and saying "Come home, love. Come home to me." But that didn't make any sense, because it was he who was gone, wasn't it?

"You left me, and they kicked me..." She mumbled.

The image slowly drowned in light as she began to wake up. She opened her eyes tentatively and looked around her. Gertrud was sitting in the kitchen chopping carrots and mumbling to herself. The curtains in her bedroom were drawn, only letting in a small amount of light to the small, but tidy room.

Néela tried to remember why she was in bed and suddenly sat up in a jolt. She threw off her blanket and pulled up her petticoat so that she could see her belly. Her flat, empty belly.

She screamed.

When Gertrud hurried to her side, Néela was frantically searching her blankets and covers for her baby. It had to be there, it just had to. She threw her upper body over the edge of the bed to look underneath it, and Gertrud's arm came around her shoulders to catch her, surprisingly strong for an old lady who had been sick recently.

"Where is it?? Where is my baby?!" She screamed.

"Shh... Shh, child. I'm so sorry... The baby is gone... Shh... It's going to be okay." She comforted Néela as she rocked her gently from side to side.

Néela knew in her heart it was true and stilled in her search for her lost child. Her one reason to live, it seemed. In stead she broke down with a long, slow wail, the words of the elderly lady repeating in her head; The baby is gone... It's gone.

She had lost a lot of blood from the miscarriage, and after a while fatigue overtook her once more as Gertrud continued to hold her and mumble comforting words to her.

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Weeks went by and Néela moved from day to day like a ghost. She tended to the house, cooked, cleaned and took care of the goats. She had resumed her duties in the washing shed, though the first time she approached it she had had a very violent panic attack. Gertrud had said that there was no rush, and that she could return to it whenever she felt ready for it.

Uldred had kept his distance from Néela and she wondered at that. In her mind, he had become a friend to her. When she asked Gertrud about it one night, the old lady sighed.

"Child, did you know that you speak in your sleep?" She asked.

"Yes, I have been told so many times."

"Well, when you had lost the baby, you spoke about the father and your parents. Uldred was there. He heard about your unfortunate circumstances, as did I." She said, matter-of-factly.

Néela paled in fear, her eyes popping wide open. _She knows? She has known for weeks? Will she evict me too?Winter is so close..._

"Now before you panic, I need to tell you something," Gertrude demanded. "I think what your parents did was cowardly and wrong. To abandon their child in her time of need because they were worried what others might think. Bah! Family is the only thing we ever really have. It's sacred, and I have no sympathy for those who do not realize that."

"That being said, I think we may have a problem, if Uldred is spreading the word in town that you are indeed unwed even though you were with child. He seemed quite chocked when he found out, and has been sullen ever since. i tried talking to him, you see, but he won't talk to me." She leaned over the table and put a hand over Néela's trembling one.

"Either way, you have a home here. And a job. Comfort will soon enough ensure that people will forget about your circumstances, dear, don't you worry. Until then, I have enough saved for us to survive the winter." She gave a reassuring smile which Néela returned timidly.

"Thank you, Gertrud. I'm sorry to have kept you in the dark, and I'm truly grateful for your sympathy."

"Ach! I'm too old to worry about what petty people think of me. Besides, I like you. You remind me of myself when I was younger. And this way, I get to experience what it might have been like to have children of my own before my time in this world is up." Gertrud's smile lit up her eyes before she let go of Néela's hand and returned to her sewing.

"I suppose I'll have to find Uldred and ask what he intends to do..." Néela said. She did not relish the thought of that conversation, though.

The next day she went to find Uldred at his house, which was located on the edge of the town. It was a small town house, but larger than Gertrud's, and Uldred had inherited it after his father when he had fallen on an orc patrol. It was big enough for a family, but not any for hired help, should they need it.

She knocked on the door and a few moments later Uldred answered. His face fell immediately into a frown when he saw her, but he opened the door and let her in anyway.

"Come in, please. And have a seat," he said without revealing his thoughts.

This made Néela nervous. She didn't quite know what to expect from him, as they hadn't been friends for long. She sat in a bolstered chair in the living room, fidgeting and rubbing her fingers absentmindedly.

"I came here to explain what happened..." She started.

"I already know." Uldred interrupted her. "You were shunned by your family because you were pregnant but not married."

"I... Yes." She consented. "You should know that I loved him. Still do, in fact, so it wasn't casual for my part." At this, she blushed furiously and looked at her hands.

Uldred's expression turned softer; "I know that too, Néela. You really do talk a lot when you sleep, and Gertrud asked me to help her keep vigil over you in the days you were unconscious. I just wish you would have told me the truth yourself. Willingly, I mean."

"Would you have done that if you had been in my shoes?" She asked, her words quiet, but steady. She was sad that she had to be careful for fear of people judging her all the time.

"Maybe not at first. But I thought we were friends, and friends are supposed to be able to trust one another." His eyes turned hard again.

"We are, and you are right. I'm sorry for not telling you, Uldred. I was just afraid that you would turn your back on me if you knew. Most people would have, you know." She lifted her eyes to his and saw him turning her words over in her head.

He was quiet for a while, but then he said; "Okay. I understand why you did as you did, and I forgive you for not trusting me as the stranger I was at first. But you have to promise to tell me the truth from now on, Néela."

She nodded eagerly to this. "Of course."

"And I should tell you that people know. They asked why you were ill and I told them you had miscarried. Then word came from Gulfar that you had been shunned, and people put it together themselves. I didn't tell them that you were unmarried, but they know now. I'm sorry." He looked remorseful, but Néela was just glad to have her friend back.

"It's okay, Uldred. I never was any good with secrets, anyway. They weigh too much for me. As long as I still have a few good friends, I'll be fine." She gave him a small smile and got up from the chair to leave.

Uldred stopped her before she reached the door. "Néela? I'm sorry you lost the child. It must be very hard for you... If you need anything... Just remember that I'm here, okay?"

She turned to look at him with haunted eyes. "I will..." She said. "Thank you for everything."

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**I know nobody wanted the baby to die; I'd think you were sick if you did. But it had to happen, I'm afraid.**

**I made a sketch of Néela, the link is on my profile. I know I like to have pictures to pin the story on myself, so feel free to peruse. And tell me what you think of the chapter and if you want more.**

**Cookies!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The forces of Mordor had spread until the very gates of Minas Tirith and the city was burning. The enormous horde struck fear into the heart of every human being who saw, heard or felt them. Nazgúl flew like vultures around the city as if it was a wounded animal, attacking the defences on the walls. Their nightmarish shrill screams ripped through the calm of the rohirric warriors on the hills of Pelénnor Fields, and the terror of the winged beasts took the courage away from any that heard them.

If their actions had been checked with cool logic, they would have turned around and gone home that very instant. This was a battle that could not be won by numbers, no, the enemy was superior by far. But so it had also been at Helm's Deep. There was no turning back for the men of the free peoples now.

The rohirrim halted at the top of the very last hill before the battlefield to regroup before the charging ahead began, and Théoden began his motivational speech for the benefit of the men.

Éomer had had some time to think during the ride to Gondor. Nobody had disturbed the grim looking marshal, in part because of his reputation for being unusually untalkative and in part because of the thunder storm expression that had settled permanently on his person. He had been thinking about Néela, her situation, their baby – _his child_ – and what he could do to make their lives better.

Valar, he was going to be a father, and he couldn't even be in the child's life. It truly was a cursed situation and it broke his heart to think of a little boy or girl with Néela's eyes who would never know how much their father loved them, how much he wanted to hold them as they fell asleep or comfort them when they were hurt. To hear them laugh and watch them play, teach them to ride...

He had gone back to talk more with Erling, once the initial chock had faded, and he had learned how inhuman the conditions for a shunned person actually was; he was appalled at the way people treated these women who were in their situation because of men, often through no fault of their own. There were only two things he could do to make amends for his own abandoning of his would-be-family, and that was what he was determined to start with on this field today.

He would rid the world of as much evil as he was capable of, making it safe for a fatherless child to grow up in. Then, if he survived the war, he would help Théoden make laws that protected unwed mothers and their children from the scorn and alienation that was commonplace today. He would build safe houses for them where they could live and work in peace for as long as was necessary. Treating a person in need with anything less than absolute hospitality would be outlawed and punishable.

With these two tasks in mind, he charged the Pelénnor Fields and let rage for the injustices of the world take him to slay every enemy who stood between his family and their safety.

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The sun was shining through the open window making the thin crisp-white curtains shine, and a light, cool breeze was blowing so they danced before the balcon's opening. Tiny particles of dust that were floating around were illuminated and made the air look alive, breathing even; a deep relief of a darkness defeated and a new dawn without threat or evil.

The quiet hum of morning was in the atmosphere and birds were waking up in the white city, announcing their presence in songs of freedom and joy. In the cavernous suite of white marble, decorated with enormous paintings of epic historical scenarios and details in gold and polished oak, the hot Gondorian days were bearable, comfortable even, for the king of Rohan, though he was used to a far colder and unforgiving climate.

No carpets adorned the floors, and when he placed his bare feet on the floor, a pleasant coolness met them. He drew a heavy sigh and rested his flushed face in his hands. Sleep had not been good to him lately, nightmares of loved ones killed by orcs, mauled by mûmakil or burned alive dominated his dreams.

The sight of Néela, round with child, her sad green eyes looking silently at him from inside a burning house had him waking up screaming, bathed in his own sweat. Other dreams saw her cut open by an orc blade, bleeding out on the battle field only to turn into Éowyn laying slain and lifeless as he had found her in reality. When he had seen Néela emerge from the mists with a bloody, dead baby in her arms, screaming soundlessly at him in despair, he had given up on sleep entirely.

He knew that he was punishing himself in ways that only the most brutal parts of his subconscious mind could make up, but he wouldn't seek help from the healers to sleep. He deserved to wander the world as an insomniac if it meant that he would always remember the lives he had destroyed. Guilt would make him a better king, it would ensure that he never forgot those that were weakest and unable to take care of themselves. Most of all, it would make him remember her and their child.

His usual way of dealing with pain; burying himself in work, was not helping. Everywhere he went there were servants waiting on him hand and foot. Firefoot had never been so spoiled in his entire life, and apparently it was very bad manners in Gondor if a king, any king, wanted to grease and shine his own armour or sharpen his own sword and spear. His only duties lately had been to celebrate the resent victory over Sauron's forces, but merriment and alcohol are ill friends when a mind is as tortured as his was.

Éowyn was recovering nicely, thanks to Aragorn, but it seemed that even when she got out of the healing houses she would not save him from the flirting, philandering and opportunistic women at the court. Never had there been such a large gathering of noble, single, powdered and painted women in one place. And one smelled more potently of heavy perfume than the next, almost making Éomer gag on several occasions.

To a single but heartbroken, newly crowned king in his best age, this was a living nightmare, and he couldn't even tell them that he was not available because he was obligated to marry a noble woman and produce an heir for his throne. So it would have been nice if Éowyn could have come as his escort to stave off the worst of the powder cases, but she had become suspiciously absent at court, except when she hung on the arm of the late steward's son. No help, at all.

So when Aragorn had wanted to introduce him to prince Imrahil of Dól Amroth and his sons and daughter last night, he had had no excuse to turn him down. The daughter had been a pleasant surprise, as she was not powdered and perfumed as many other of the women, and actually had a pleasant enough disposition.

"King Éomer," Aragorn said in a formal tone, "may I introduce you to the royal family and keepers of Dól Amroth, Prince Imrahil, his sons Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos, and his lovely daughter Lothíriel. The Prince and his swan Knights came to defend Minas Tirith against Mordor."

"We've met. You were the one who saw that Éowyn was still alive on Pelénnor, weren't you?" Éomer enquired the Prince.

"Indeed, my lord. Though i did not think you would recognize me without the grime of war on my face." Imrahil smiled kindly.

"I owe you my thanks. Éowyn is all but recovered now, save for occasional pains from her arm. It is a miracle that she survived her battle against the Witch King at all."

Lothíriel's eyes had gone wide at this. "Your women fight in battles, my lord?" She asked in surprise.

"Only the foolhardy, mad, stubborn and disobedient ones." Éomer answered with so much love in his voice that there was no bite to the insult. He would die before admitting it, but Éowyn had made him so very proud when she defeated the most fearsome creature in the entire battle. Once the fear for her life and outrage at her nerve and fury that she almost died had abated, of course.

"Is he talking about himself again?" Came Éowyn's shouted voice from somewhere behind him. Lothíriel's face lit up in a bright laugh, and Éomer noticed for the first time that she was beautiful. Her bright grey eyes were surrounded by long, black lashes and her smooth black hair fell to her waist in waves. The skin of the people of Dól Amroth was a dark, olive tinted colour and her deep red dress accentuated her subtle, slender curves and brought out the glow in her cheeks.

If Néela was spring, Lothíriel was summer.

And here the thread broke for Éomer. He realised that he was comparing every woman he met with Néela, and that the comparison was entirely unfair, because nobody would ever live up to her. If he was to marry a noble woman he would have to stop that way of thinking, unless he wanted the poor thing to be completely miserable. As if being married to a man who loved someone else so entirely wasn't bad enough, she would also live in the knowledge that she would always be second best in his eyes, and that would not be fair to anyone.

No, he would attempt to see each woman as their own individual person, and reserve Néela as the keeper of his heart and a creature in a league of her own. His wife would have his loyalty, his home, his care and his heir, but Néela would forever have his heart whether she lived or died. No amount of duty or willpower could change this, and Éomer strongly doubted that he was the first king in this situation. After all, how big was the chance of falling madly in love with the one person you had to marry for political reasons?

"I will have to visit Rohan someday. You seem like a great people with a wonderful humour." Lothíriel said, pulling him from his thoughts.

Éomer had heard many self-inviting comments in the past weeks from the husband hunters, but he didn't think that Lothíriel sounded as if she had hidden agendas. "You are of course welcome to stay in Edoras at any time, my lady," He said graciously. "I am afraid that we don't have many other places that are suitable for a young lady of your standing, but the Golden Hall shall be open to you at your leisure."

"Oh, don't worry about accommodations, my lord. As you can see, I was raised with three older brothers and I feel just as much at home in a tent, barefoot on the beach, on horseback or at the top of a tree as I do in a fine dress and jewellery." Lothíriel smiled at him.

"Really? I have a very hard time imagining you in a tree." Éomer was genuinely surprised at the young woman. She emitted an air of class, so picturing her as a tree climbing savage was near impossible to him.

"Well, it's an excellent place to hide when you're hunting for boar or deer, as you have the vantage point and the animals seldom see you because you are up high and covered by the leaves," she answered.

Imrahil seemed a bit embarrassed at the topic and tried to steer his daughter away from it. "Lothíriel, I don't think it is entirely proper talk for a lady..." Her brothers, who probably had a hand in teaching her these things in the first place, beamed in pride, though.

In the meantime, Éowyn and Faramir had joined the group and Faramir broke in; "Nonsense, uncle. My dear cousin is a child of nature and should never be forced to hide her true self, which is in fact a monkey, right Lothy?" He winked at Lothíriel and managed to ease the tension in Imrahil while making 'Lothy' blush at the same time.

"I'm no monkey, Faramir. Monkeys don't swim, they don't shoot bows and they certainly don't ride on horses," she tried feebly to shoot back.

Faramir just laughed and said; "They are also a great deal more hairy than you, unless you keep secrets under that dress."

"You will just never know, now will you?" She retorted, making the whole company laugh.

After a moment, the laughter died down and Éowyn asked "Can you teach me to shoot a bow? I have always wanted to learn."

"Only if you teach me to fight with a sword. My father won't let my brothers teach me that, and for once they have obeyed him for some reason," Lothíriel smiled.

"It's a deal. Come to Rohan this summer and I'll teach you." Éowyn beamed back at the other woman.

"Now wait just a minute, young lady," Imrahil started. "I will not have you disobey me blatantly and running off to another country just to get your way."

"Father, relax. I'm not doing this to disobey you. I really want to learn, and if I go to Rohan, I can make new friends and bring our countries closer together. Besides, I'm 21 years old, so you don't really get to tell me what I can or can't do anymore. But don't worry, I still love you, and I always will." She gave him a radiant smile before taking Éowyn by the arm and swiftly taking their leave in giggles.

Imrahil stood dumbfounded with a gaping mouth until Amrothos said; "Close your mouth, dad. She had to grow up someday. And maybe this is a good thing. She's right, you know. Her being in Rohan over the summer has a lot of good potential." The last thing was said with a nod towards Éomer who was still watching the two retreating, giggling females.

"Oh?" Imrahil was slowly returning from his stupor. "Oh! Right. New friends indeed..." He said as his expression turned from stunned to surprised to contemplative in a matter of mere seconds.

Éomer's eyes had been following his sister in marvelled relief at how well she was recovering, and he was silently thanking the gondorian steward for returning her to her free spirits. She had never really been the same since she had been trapped in Méduseld tending to a sick uncle under the constant leer of the desirous worm and she had been very guarded with herself ever since. But not any more.

Once more her gentle spirit and carefree laugh shone through, and for this, Éomer was very grateful. He had been at his wits end when he had found her lifeless on the battlefield, lying beside his dead and broken uncle. In one swoop, what had been left of his family had been destroyed and he was truly alone in a world gone mad. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy, and he had failed her in the past. He would not fail her again.

So when the time came to return to Rohan and Éowyn informed him that she was engaged to Faramir and would soon return to Gondor to marry him, Éomer was happy for her and made no objections to the arrangement. There was no reason to put his own fate of an arranged marriage on her shoulders to, when anyone could see how in love she was with her steward. It was a fine match indeed.

It had been agreed upon, that Lothíriel would accompany Éowyn back to Rohan, and she arrived early in the morning of departure on a feisty palomino mare who looked more like a race horse than a docile pony for pleasure rides. She was dressed in practical riding and hunting clothes made from soft leather and wore her bow and quiver on her back. If not for her round ears, she would have resembled an elf.

Éothain was getting ready for departure when she rode up to the rohirrim, looking for the Éomer or Éowyn, and he sauntered over to her in his usual, casual manner. "May I help you, my lady?" He asked her.

"Yes. I was supposed to travel with you all to Rohan, but I'm afraid I don't see the king or his sister here?" She said.

"Ah, well you see, they're in charge of the entire rohirrim, and are probably very busy getting the army ready for the ride home. I keep telling them that they have to delegate the jobs out to the rest of us, but I guess they're just not used to their new roles yet. If you'll let me, I would be happy to keep you company until they return?" He gave her a tentative smile, which she returned in full.

"That would be lovely, thank you. I'm Lothíriel. And you are..?"

"Eotháin. It's a pleasure to meet you. And may I say that is a fine horse you have there. Unusual colourings, too. Where is she from?" He enquired, trying to take his mind off of Lothíriel's full, red lips and shining silver eyes, as well as her slender body in perfect posture and the slight swell of her breasts underneath her tunic and under bust vest.

"Oh, her colours are quite common in Dol Amroth where I am from, but her breeding also stems from the Máeras, making her faster and taller than our usual palomino horses. I am quite proud of her. Her name is Fíndlas"

By now, poor Éothain had gone dry in the mouth and was struggling to find words to converse with, much less a cohesive thought. All he managed, and this was without as much as a look to the horse in question, was; "Beautiful..."

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**I know Néela was missing in this one and I will make it up to you. **

**However, I have been struck by employment, so I am not at liberty to spend my nights writing this story for you beautiful people any more – ergo; updates might become slightly sporadic in the future, though never abandoned.**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

He was writing in his journal again. Always. It was all made out of letters to Néela, and he had dated every entry so that she would know when he had written each letter and what he was feeling at any given moment he had not been with her. When he had finally accepted his fate and the fact that he was going to be king of Rohan, and therefore had to marry another woman, he had decided to give her the journal.

She would never for one second think that he had willingly abandoned her, nor that he didn't feel anything for her and their child. No matter the consequences, he would provide for her and their child until the time came when they didn't need him any more. The thought stung and gave him a bitter taste of life to come.

They would be arriving at Gulfar early the next day, and Éomer had planned to track Néela down from there before returning with the rest of the royal contingent to Edoras to give her the journal and to pay her the respect to say goodbye to her face. That, and he wanted to see her one last time. To feel the sun of her smile on his face and bask in the green of her eyes before he entered a life of perpetual grey.

He finished his final letter with the words;

_I need you to know __all this if I am to survive the years to come._

_Yours forever in heart._

_Éomer._

With a shaky sigh he closed the book and put it in his saddle bag. It was time to get some sleep, so he blew out the candles in his tent and went to his bed roll. As he lay waiting for sleep to come, he listened to the sounds of the camp outside. People were still gathered around the fires and he could hear Éowyn and Lothiriel talking quietly.

The marshals Elfhelm and Éothain were there too and gave their piece once in a while too. there was a quiet chuckle from the group. Talk recommenced. Wishes of a good night, and then only the sound of the wind in the canvas and the fire sparking and whispering.

Before his conscious thoughts left him for the night, he wondered if Néela would hate him when he found her or if she would embrace him one last time as he desperately needed her to.

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The day dawned grey and rainy and Néela stretched lazily in bed, trying to awaken her body from the deep slumber only hard labour could induce. It was time to start her chores and then she was going on a pick-up round this afternoon.

Winter had come and gone and as Gertrude had said, people had conveniently ignored that Néela was a part of the house hold when they came to get their laundry done - After a few months of getting their fingers frozen at the river, of course.

The 'compromise' was that nobody spoke to her or looked at her. She was ignored and invisible, even if she wasn't directly scorned and spat on. It was better than not being able to feed herself and being homeless, but it still vexed her very much. Shopping for groceries had become a strange matter, where Néela took what she needed and left the money with the shop owners eyeing her suspiciously, but never saying a word and completely avoiding eye contact.

It was also common practise to talk about her as if she wasn't even there, and sometimes people were cruel with their words. But Néela really didn't care what cruel people thought of her. They weren't worth her emotions and besides, it would probably only goad them on, so she just remembered who they were and when the time came, their clothes might not smell as delightful as they maybe could have, when they were returned from the wash house.

Gertrude had wanted to reprimand her for poor service when she found out, but the message was somewhat void because the old lady couldn't keep a straight face while she did it. The two women had become partners in crime since then and had developed new and cunning methods to avenge any hurt pride Néela might have suffered.

The clothes wouldn't smell when the customer got them back, but thanks to a special soap Néela and Gertrude had mixed together from herbs and scents, a horrible stink would spread within a few hours of the clothes being worn on warm skin. The customer never knew what hit them. It may have been a low blow, but the humour and vengeance in it kept Néela from going mad.

She got up and washed herself in the cool basin at her dresser, brushed her long blond hair and braided it in a thick braid down her back. Then she pulled out her work clothes and put them on. Breakfast in the little house usually consisted of oat meal porridge with milk, honey and fruit with a broth of tea, and as the smell of cooking food spread through the house, Gertrude started waking slowly.

"I have never slept late a day in my life until you came here and spoiled me rotten, my dear," was her morning greeting.

"I had nothing to do with it, silly. You just got old and haggard and need me to take care of your sad little self," Néela teased her. They had developed a harsh sense of humour and the scathing remarks only caused the old woman to chuckle.

"You've got a mouth on you, girl! If I had talked like that to my elders in my day, I would have gotten a beating so bad, I would have been bed ridden for days."

"Well, number one," Néela sat down with her bowl and served Gertrude, "You'd have to catch me first and I don't see that happening any day soon with those crooked old legs. And number two; You know you could never hurt me – you love me too much!" With this, she gave Gertrude a large, fake smile and held her head askew head like a puppy.

"Ha! Keep it up and we'll see about that!" The old woman scoffed in good nature and dug into her breakfast.

They finished the rest of their meal in companionable silence before Gertrude cleared the table and started cleaning the pot and saucers.

"I'm going on round, see you later Trudy," Néela called out, using the endearment that Gertrude hated like the plague. Nobody else dared call her that, but Néela held a special place in her heart so she got away with, but only it if she followed it with an immediate escape.

Which she did. She grabbed the large basket and hurried out of the house, avoiding a wet rag being hurled in her general direction.

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The last stop on her route was the Three Legged Bull, where she popped by to see if they needed bed sheets or customer clothing washed. With luck, Uldred had gotten employed there as a barkeep since he had been wounded on patrol this winter and couldn't ride while he was healing. She suspected that he quite liked his new job as opposed to his last one, and he was one of the two people who actually spoke to her in public so it was good to have him in town.

"Hello Néela. What'll it be today?" He greeted her while he was drying off a clean mug.

"Just the wash, Uldred. As per usual," she said.

"Ah. Yes of course. But are you sure I can't tempt you with this brand new brew of apple cider? I made it myself and it is, if I do say so myself, quite tart yet sweet and tantalizing," he bragged.

"Uldred! It's only barely noon, and I have work to do." Néela exclaimed.

"Do you know, I don't think I've ever seen you drink, Néela? Why is that, I wonder?" He teased.

"I don't drink when I'm working, thank you very much. Maybe if you had the same attitude you would still be able to ride horses, my friend."

Uldred laughed at her insinuation. "Do you mean to imply that I was drunk on duty? If so, I can inform you that I have never brought alcohol of any kind on a patrol. Though, maybe it would help, come to think of it." He tapped his chin in a very contemplative way. "Anyway! When are you going to let me drink you silly and hear you sing? You still owe me a song, you know?"

"Let me ask Gertrude, ok? I could use a night off actually. Maybe tonight? Now, about the laundry..."

"Don't have any today. Sorry. Now go get the night off." Uldred smiled like a little kid and sent her on her way. "Oh! And tell her that you'll not be working tomorrow morning either, just to be safe." He winked and left for the storage room in the back.

Néela shook her head and turned around to leave with her half full basket. She felt a pair of eyes watching her and glanced at a man sitting in the back of the room. What she saw was the one face that had been in her dreams every night for the last ten months. She dropped the basket in shock.

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He had been told to go to Sinddal, so he did. When he got there, it was a dead end. Nobody knew her name or her description. He had asked everyone for directions or clues to where she could be, and he was positive that people were hiding something from him. When he asked for Néela, he described her as a beautiful, blond woman, a young mother to a babe of a few months at most.

At first he was worried that she may have perished during the winter, but then he noticed that people avoided his eyes when they realised what and who he was asking about. Something was definitely wrong here.

He had all but given up when he decided to buy lunch at the local inn and rethink his strategy. He was scowling at his innocent and quite delicious lunch when he heard someone say her name. His head snapped up, fast enough to give anyone else a neck injury, and then he saw her.

She was carrying a large basket with clothes in it and was currently talking to the man tending the bar. She looked beautiful. Tired, with dark circles under her eyes, her clothes were more than well worn and her body looked hardened, compared to when he had last held her close. Her arms were wiry and strong, not the smooth softness he had spent days familiarising himself with in a forest a lifetime ago. Life had been hard to her, but she was alive and healthy as far as he could tell.

The conversation between her and the barkeep lasted for a few minutes until he left and she turned with a smile on her face to meet his eyes. Éomer couldn't move. For days, nay months, he had dreamed of the moment he saw her again, and he had turned it over and over in his head how it might go. And still he had never imagined it to be like this.

His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it against his armour and he couldn't move, save for a few twitches in his hands as if they wanted to reach out to her on their own volition. The need to breathe had left him, and the heavy sensation that had been weighing on his chest throughout the last many months seemed to have lifted. He felt warm once more.

Néela froze for two seconds to verify that it was really he, and then she dropped everything she had in her hands and hurled her lithe body at him. He didn't know whether to expect an attack or an embrace or nothing at all, but either way he would not resist it. She had every right to which ever treatment she chose to give him, considering what she had been through.

In the time it took her to run across the room, he had gotten to his feet and stepped away from the table to greet her. She lunged at him from two metres away and flung her arms around his neck, the momentum of her speed knocking him back several steps. Éomer tightened his arms around her in a vice-like grip and buried his face at her neck, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.

"My love..." Was all he managed to say.

Néela was shaking and her breath was coming in short stifled gasps as she clung to Éomer as if he was the only thing holding her together. He realised she was crying but trying not to, and tightened his arms around her even more. "Come on, Néela. Let me take you somewhere private so you can let go of it all and we can talk," he whispered and reluctantly let her down, supporting her as he escorted her outside to where Firefoot was waiting.

"Where to?" He asked her when he had secured her in front of him.

"Home. That way." She said, once more composed enough to speak. Éomer spurred Firefoot on and the great stallion happily sprung forward in a fast trot, making some of the people in the street hurry out of his way and quite enjoying the respect his size and strength commanded.

They arrived at the house and Néela led Éomer to the kitchen. Gertrude was out at the moment, and they were alone.

"May I offer you anything?" Néela said.

"No thank you. Please Néela, how are you?" He reached out for her and she walked into his arms readily.

"Can we start with a less complicated question, please?" She chuckled into his chest.

Éomer smiled at her humour. He knew what she meant; He was himself both elated to have her in his arms and heartbroken that he had to say goodbye to her. Excited to see their child and devastated that he could never fill the roll of father to it.

"Of course. I heard that you were pregnant, but I couldn't come to you. For this, I will be forever sorry, my love. But may I see the baby, Néela? I won't interfere with your lives, I just want to meet him or her."

Néela pulled away from him and he saw the look of utter pain written all over her face. "Oh, Éomer. I am sorry. But I lost the baby a few weeks after I got here. There is no child." Tears escaped her lashes and trickled down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to..."

"What?" He said, confused. "No! No, it wasn't your fault. It couldn't have been. These things just happen sometimes, my love, without reason or fairness, it could have happened to anybody. I am so sorry you had to go through it alone. I wish i had been here for you, more than anything, i wish that." He embraced her once more and pulled her to sit on his lap as he held her for a while and she cried for their loss. They rocked gently and found comfort in each other.

"Éomer, would you mind taking off your armour?" She finally asked. "I want to hold you."

He smiled at her at started loosening the buckles. He would never deny her anything she wished for, even if she had asked him to go to Mordor to find a rose on mount Doom, he would have gone.

When he had gotten the hard leather armour and hauberk off, he opened his arms to her once more. Néela stepped between his legs and ran her hands from his forehead and down to his scruffy cheeks. Then she leaned in and kissed him blithely. This was her Éomer, the man who held her heart and protected the land from evil and she couldn't resist showing him that she loved him, nor would she ever try.

Every thought fled his mind when he felt her lips on his. He could only feel. Soft, smooth and warm lips, The scent of her sweet breath as it joined his own, layered over the smell of her skin and fragrances of flowers and herbs, the shape of her back as he ran his hands up from her wait to settle under her silky hair, the weight of her breasts pressed to his chest, and finally the taste of her mouth as he deepened the kiss. This was what home felt like to him.

After a while, he pulled away from her and looked at her dazed expression with awe.

"You don't know how much you mean to me, Néela. I love you more than anything, but I can't do this to you again. I made and oath to your father to let you be if I were to become next in line for the throne, and now I am obligated by duty and kingdom to continue the line of kings for Rohan's throne." He sighed and bowed his head.

"Is there no other way?" Néela whispered as she held his head to her. "The oath you made to my father became invalid the day he disowned me as his daughter. I have no father, nor a mother, if not for Gertrude who took me in and treated me as her own. Isn't there someone else who can take the throne? What about Éowyn, I heard that she has a brilliant mind for politics?"

"She does, and I would be proud to see her as queen, but she is betrothed to the steward of Gondor, who cannot leave his title and country. Besides, laws state that it must always be a son of Rohan, who rules as king, but he may take a wife from another country if he wishes. Believe me, I have read these laws over and over for a solution."

Néela thought this over for a while. "And the laws state that the king cannot take a commoner as his wife?" She asked.

"Not in those words, but it says that any queen of Rohan must be noble and worthy. Interpretations of this have always been that she must be nobility, and political strategies have made it so over the generations." Éomer shook his head. "Even if I chose to interpret it differently, I would risk throwing us into civil war if the people and the court were not behind me. And they won't be with the current situation with Gondor; They will want me to marry one of theirs to strengthen alliances."

"But you are not even king yet!" Néela exclaimed. "Théoden may live for many years to come, and may even produce another son for all we know."

Éomer looked shocked. "You don't know?" He asked. "Théoden fell at the battle of Pellénor Field. I am the acting king, and once I return to Edoras, I will be crowned."

"Oh..." Néela's face fell. "It would seem that we have a lot to talk about. Please tell me everything, Éomer."

"I will." He said.

...

"And now the war is over so we can rebuild the world of free men." He finished the long tale.

"I see..." Néela said as she took in the amazing and horrifying story. "You really are king of Rohan."

"I am. But it was never my choice, Néela. You were." He took her delicate hands and pleaded that she would understand.

"I know." She assured him. "I just thought that since you were here looking for me... But I suppose it was a fools hope..."

"I have no greater wish than to be with you, my love. But I can't." He lamented.

"Yet, you call me love?" She asked, suddenly upset.

"You are my love. And when I leave here, I leave my heart with you. No one else will ever have it, regardless who I must marry. This is not something I have the power to change, and I wouldn't if I did," he said vehemently.

"Nor would I," she agreed "and I love you too, though it may well destroy me."

"About that. Why is it that nobody here know of you? Have you changed your name?" Éomer asked.

She gave a bitter laugh and rose from her seat to begin pacing. "No. It is their way of saying that I am not welcome here. If not for Gertrude's hospitality, I doubt that I would have survived the winter. The people here found out that I was unwed and pregnant when I miscarried because I talked in my fever sleep, so they tried to freeze us both, well rather all three of us, out. But eventually their clothes began to stink and needed washing, so now they just pretend I don't exist. I'm a ghost to all but Gertrude and Uldred."

"The barkeep at the Three Legged Bull?" He asked. "I saw you talking there. He seems very friendly towards you." A whisper of jealousy touched him, but he killed it swiftly. He didn't have any right to feel that way, and if there was a chance for Néela to be happy he would never stand in her way.

"Yes, that's the one. He's been a good friend, though he inadvertently told people enough for them to figure out the rest of my predicament. I think he still feels guilty about it sometimes. He served under you on patrols, did you know?"

"He seemed familiar, but I have never spoken with him myself," Éomer told her. "I am glad that you were not entirely alone. But I can not condone the way you are otherwise treated here. There will be many changes when I get back to Edoras in how people treat unwed mothers and what is done to them, but I won't bore you with those plans now," he said and gestured for her to sit again.

"What I will ask you, however, is if you would like me to arrange a life for you in a place away from here? I could recommend you to work for Elfhelm, a lord in the West Fold. You would have your own house, paid work and no one would ever know about your history. If your friends are willing, I would gladly set it up for them too." He hoped she would not take offence or think him meddlesome, he just wanted her safe and happy.

"I... I don't know. I don't want to leave Gertrude here, so I would have to talk to her..." She said.

"Take the damn offer! This place has nothing to offer for a girl as great as you!" Came Gertrude's voice from the next room.

Néela jumped and spun around. "Gertrude! Were you spying on us?" She asked, outraged.

"Not in so many words. You just didn't hear me come in and I didn't want to interrupt what seemed like an important conversation," she said nonchalantly.

"An important, _private,_ conversation, Gertrude!" Then she turned to Éomer. "If she comes, can she be like, a next door neighbour in stead of living in the same house as me?" She asked.

Éomer grinned at her. "That is completely your choice. Whatever you desire, I will get it for you."

Her face fell a bit, and she said in a low voice; "Except one thing."

"Yes. Except that one thing. But know that I will be dead inside every day I do not spend with you, for the rest of my life, Néela." He raised her chin so that she looked him in the eyes.

"How long will you stay?" She asked, her green eyes sad as they searched his for something, anything to ease the pain.

_I would stay forever,_ he thought.

"Until tomorrow. I should leave today, but I can't bring myself to do it. I want to hear you sing tonight."

Néela turned her head slightly towards the room where Gertrude was, but didn't break eye contact with Éomer. "Gertrude, I'm taking the night off."

All she got in return was a dry cackle from the old lady. Then she took Éomer's hand and dragged him towards the door.

"It was nice meeting you Gertrude!" He called out.

"You too, your majesty!" She replied.

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The Bull was slowly filling and the atmosphere was getting louder as the three young people sat and talked in the back of the room. Drinks had been plentiful the past four hours and tongues had been loosened. Uldred was currently regaling Néela with tales of Éomer's prowess as a warrior and Éomer was dutifully blushing and avoiding her eyes.

"Really, Uldred, I think you're exaggerating..." He mumbled now and again.

Néela giggled and took another swig of her cider. It really was a very tart and delicious cider, she thought.

"Not at all, my lord. I am confident that Rohan is in excellent care now that you will be governing, *hiccup*, I'd never thought that I would be drinking with a king." He giggled in most ridiculous manner, making both Néela and Éomer laugh. "But how do you two know each other?" He asked.

"We met in Gulfar when I was on patrol," Éomer told him, "and I loved her from the moment she first bumped into me, nearly falling on her butt." He looked lovingly at Néela. She took his hand and they shared a sad smile.

"Oh..." Uldred seemed to think this over for a while before he turned to Éomer with a serious expression. "Is it safe to assume that you are the one responsible for Néela's banishment, then?"

"It is." Éomer met his eyes straight on.

"I should kill you for that offence!" Uldred finally shouted. Néela sat back in shock and stared at him.

"Yes, you should." was the honest reply.

"Uldred!" Néela intervened. "Sit down, right now! If any of you start a fight I will gut you both myself. And Éomer, you shut your trap. What are you trying to do here? Goad him into a fight you could only win?"

"No, but I deserve his anger. He has taken the role of your protector, which I am grateful for, and he has the right to punish me for destroying your reputation."

"Éomer, how are you to change these archaic ways of treating the banished if you yourself think that my reputation is destroyed and I am tarnished? I am still me, you know. I haven't been broken or violated, so let this anger towards yourself go, okay?" She put her hand against his cheek.

Uldred had sat back down and seemed to be listening intently to her.

"Bah!" He said. "I would probably end up dead anyway. Going against Éomer, what was I thinking?" He took a swig of ale. "That, or I would end up killing the king of Rohan, which is even worse! High treason. Yikes!" This broke the tension, and returned the smiles around the table.

"Néela, didn't you say something about a song, you knew?" Uldred said.

"No," she said. "That was you."

"Come on, love. Sing us a song." Éomer pleaded, making a silly puppy dog face at her.

She laughed and rose to stand, only stumbling a little. "Okay. I have one."

As she started singing, the chatter and noise in the room slowly died as everyone started listening to her, though nobody looked at her. She felt as if she was alone with Éomer and sang the song for him as best as she could;

_I'll sing it one last time for you  
Then we really have to go  
You've been the only thing that's right  
In all I've done_

_And I can barely look at you  
But every single time I do  
I know we'll make it anywhere  
Away from here_

_Light up, light up  
As if you have a choice  
Even if you cannot hear my voice  
I'll be right beside you dear_

_Louder louder  
And we'll run for our lives  
I can hardly speak I understand  
Why you can't raise your voice to say_

_To think I might not see those eyes  
Makes it so hard not to cry  
And as we say our long goodbye  
I nearly do_

_Light up, light up  
As if you have a choice  
Even if you cannot hear my voice  
I'll be right beside you dear_

_Slower slower  
We don't have time for that  
All I want is to find an easier way  
To get out of our little heads_

_Have heart my dear  
We're bound to be afraid  
Even if it's just for a few days  
Making up for all this mess_

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**I am not the poetic type, so I borrowed the lyrics from Snow Patrol's 'Run'.**

**Rewievs are love**


	14. Chapter 14

**You might want to read back a bit due to my obscenely long hiatus. I apologize.**

Chapter 14

The journey from the East Fold to Elfhelm's home was a long and slow one. Gertrude was too old and suffered too much from painful joints to ride, so they were forced to bring a cart where she could sit more comfortably. Fortunately this also enabled them to bring along most of their possessions, both from the women's home and from Uldred's.

Uldred had needed a day to decide whether to follow Néela and Gertrude to the West Fold or not, but had eventually agreed to come along. What his deliberations were, Néela didn't know, but she was glad he was with them. Since they had left Sinddal he had acted as their own personal guard, complete with his Rohirrim armour and weapons, and it gave her a comfort that allowed her to relax and enjoy the travelling.

When he was scouting their surroundings and rode a distance away, she could almost imagine that he was Éomer, riding in her periphery and always watching out for her. Of course those fantasies only lasted for a second or two until her eyes were compelled to focus on the rider and see his tan horse and slighter build. But when he caught her looking she would always smile at him and look away.

Halla, bless her, pulled the cart as if there was no weight at all on it, and Gertrude sat next to Néela up front most of the time, observing their surroundings and keeping an ever sharp eye her young companions.

"You know that boy would go through hell's fire for you, dear. Every time you look at him he turns bright red and starts to stutter in infatuation, but what are your intentions towards him, if I may ask?" She asked Néela.

Néela looked utterly puzzled at her, not quite understanding what boy she was referring to. When she understood that the 'boy' in question was in fact Uldred, she gave a hearty laugh. "You are off your rock, finally, Gertrude! And here I was, thinking that you would linger on the edge of lunacy for the remainder of your life!" She sputtered as she cracked i laughter.

When Gertrude's demeanor remained serious and she just continued to look pointedly at Néela, the young woman's giggles slowly died down.

"Oh, Gertrude. You cannot be serious! Uldred is my friend, and he knows just as well as you where my heart lies." She finally managed through a crooked smile.

"Yes, he knows about your great love. But he also knows that there are no prospects for you in that great love." The old woman callously said. "And I think that he hopes to give you such a prospect, once you realize this."

Néela grew silent and started to see her previous interactions with Uldred in a new light, one that she was not entirely sure she was comfortable with.

_Have I been leading him on? And __if so, for how long has he held hope that I would turn my eyes at him in that way? This cannot be happening, I need him to be my friend! What if he turns away from me and never wants to speak to me again? Oh no... I can't let that happen. Could I ever be happy if I let him court me, love me, even marry me? No, this is unthinkable. I would always compare him, always find him lacking. Éru, I hope Gertrude is wrong, just this once. Batty old woman! Why'd she have to bring this up??_

For the rest of their journey through Rohan, she was careful to not be caught staring at Uldred, and she started to reserve her smiles for Gertrude only. She still spoke to him when the three of them shared meals and around the fire at night, but she was always a bit more guarded with her words and demeanour now. Poor Uldred seemed bewildered at her change towards him and the mood of their merry company soon became a somber and quiet one.

They arrived at Elfhelm's home three and a half weeks after setting out from Sinddal, and Néela realised that 'home' was an inappropriate term for the place. It was a fortress made in wood and stone surrounded by a city only second to Édoras in size and splendour. The streets of the town were lined with flower beds and in the gentle spring air was the soothing perfume of hundreds of budding and blossoming flowers in all the colours of the rainbow.

Every house, every home bore signs of the previous years being hard on the land, but at the same time, every building and garden showed that repairs and new additions were under way. Newly painted walls, piles of fresh planks, tiles, stones, wrought iron and tools for construction were present all over the town. There was a bustling activity of people mending, working and noise from market stands, children, dogs, chickens and general crowds.

Néela and uldred were in awe of the city, having never been there before and not having been told of the size of the town made them speechless.

"What is this place?" Uldred finally asked Gertrude.

"Adorheim. The far western point of the Kingdom of Rohan." She said. "The river Adorn runs on the other side, below the hills and joins with the river Isen ten miles down stream. This was once the capitol of Rohan before protection from orcs and other monsters became necessary, and the court was moved to Edoras. For many years it was an outpost run mainly by corrupt lords and brigands, but it would seem that that has changed. Maybe."

"Let's find this Elfhelm and find out where we're supposed to go and what we're supposed to be doing here, shall we?" Néela said to them both.

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As it turned out, Elfhelm was a most gracious host, who had been expecting Néela and her company since he received a letter from his newly appointed king. The letter had ordered him to accommodate them with their own cottages on the outskirts of town, Néela's a bit further away than the others as per her request. She had wanted the possibility of solitude after so many years with other people watching over her shoulder, good natured or not.

The marshal had had his men repair and furnish three separate houses so that they were ready for for the East Folders to move right into, though they still needed to be personalized with carpets, pictures, pillows, flowers, blankets and whatnot. Néela's garden was not large, but still big enough that there was a floral section with a bench and table and a herbal section for her spices, vegetables and herbs, along with a small orchard of cherry, apple and pear thee, all in full blossom in this season.

Uldred had been accepted into the home guard division of the marshal's éored, and was very content with this, as he would not be required to go out on patrol, but would still be able to provide a service with his military skills. This pleased Néela very much, because she knew how important it was to her friend to have a useful profession. At first, Elfhelm had proclaimed that she herself did not need to work, and that everything she needed would be provided for her. She had been furious when she heard this; Parked at the outskirts of Rohan as an embarrassing secret of the King's, supported like a secret mistress? No thank you! She would provide for herself or die trying, so help her.

Elfhelm's grandiose manners had been somewhat subdued at this. "But sweet girl, I have been charged with your well being and safety under pain of death. And though I know the king personally as a good friend, I actually think he means it when it comes to you. Will you not let me help you?" He asked.

"Very well," she sighed. "You may help me find a suitable employment, as I have no preferred profession to start up with."

Elfhelm thought on this for a minute before exclaiming, "Ah! I have an idea. My eldest daughter is fourteen and in need of a governess. Alas, my wife sadly died giving birth to my third child three years past. Would you be interested in taking on this job, perhaps? We have a cook and a servant for cleaning and such, but I would appreciate it greatly if you could teach her a bit of what it means to run a household and behave as a lady. She is too spoiled by me I'm afraid, to know how to cook, clean, wash and ... well I don't know what ladies do, really."

"Oh. Well... ahm... My Lord, I don't know what you've heard of me, but I'm not sure you'd want someone of my stature to teach your daughter about the obligations of... a lady." She blushed furiously at the shame of admitting to her fall from grace.

Elfhelm took her by the elbow and led her gently to his study where he shut the door. "Listen, Néela. I rode with Éomer when he was a marshal, and I've seen you two together. What more is, he is my friend, and I know the effect your love – and parting – has had on him. There was nothing casual or careless about it, wherefore I have no objections to you joining my household, and as far as I am concerned, you honour is unsoiled and intact."

He sighed heavily and adjusted the sheep skin cape on his shoulders. "That being said, I will encourage you to consider this relocation a fresh start and not tell your story to anyone unless you absolutely trust them. People are not always as magnanimous as one would like."

"Except you, my Lord. You most certainly are. I thank you dearly for your kindness and your offer. I accept it with honour." She started to bow, but was stopped by a heavy hand on her shoulder. With a fatherly smile, Elfhelmpulled her into a bear hug and as he released her, he steadied her with a small shake.

"It will be good to see you blossom and heal, my dear. Welcome, once again." He rumbled with a quiet chuckle and left the study and a moved girl in his wake who barely held her tears at his kindness.

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As it turned out, being a governess to a spoiled, haughty teenage girl, who had all her life been used to being told she was right and getting her way, was no light task. Néela had been put in a situation where she was to teach the snooty girl things that she had no interest in learning, on top of trying to get her to respect her as a superior, a person of some authority, which was nigh impossible because no example had ever been sat for her before.

After a third day of being blown off for the most ridiculous reasons every time she tried to make an appointment with the girl, she returned home and plumped into her couch with a steaming huff.

"This is absolutely absurd!" She shouted at the walls. _Ugh, there's no way I'll ever get through to that stuck up little brat! I need leverage over her to get her to listen...__hmm__... What does she care about?... Guess I'll have to watch her closely for a few days._She contemplated until her growling stomach told her to feed it.

The next day she started watching the girl, Isa, from afar. She watched as she interacted and whispered and squealed with her girlfriends, as she ignored the servants of the house even when they spoke to her, as she shopped for ribbons for her hair and dresses, as she teased a pimple faced boy until he ran from her and her "evil fluffy followers" as Néela had secretly and not so lovingly named them.

Then, finally, a breakthrough presented itself when Isa and two other girls went to the army's training ground outside the town. It came to Néela as she watched the girls fawn over the young recruits, and especially when one of them won a sword fight and looked up at Isa. She blushed furiously and quickly lowered her eyes to the ground as if embarrassed to have been caught ogling him. _Got you!_ Néela thought. _Finally, a weak spot. Now we can get to work._

The girls left shortly after and Néela climbed through the bars of the fence to go talk to the recruit of Isa's fancy.

"Hey kid!" She shouted at him, effectively diverting his attention from a duel he was now watching. As he turned, she saw that he was older than she had thought him from afar, perhaps around twenty years old, with a very handsome face and broad shoulders yet waiting to be filled out fully. He looked up at her questioningly and then gave her a once over, evaluating her looks and social standing.

"Yeah?" He said, apparently deeming her attractive enough to answer, but not important enough to answer respectfully. _A match made in heaven if Isa gets him,_ Néela snickered to herself.

"What's your name, soldier?" She asked in a slightly flirtatious way. No reason to not use her arsenal against him if he was dumb enough to fall for it.

"Who wants to know?" He returned with an arrogant smirk that might have seemed attractive if Néela wasn't about to start giggling at him for the artificial behaviour.

"My name's Néela."

"Danlon, son of Dantan. What can I do to you?" He deliberately misspoke, making his friends roar with laughter.

"Well, Danlon, son of Danton. I'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind?" Néela wiped the flirtyness off his face with those words, but before he had a chance to answer, the trainer yelled at him as he came marching over.

"DANLON! I've told you to keep your girls out of the training grounds! Get back to work!"

"Oh no sir, I'm not an admirer of his. I was merely here to get a few hours of practice myself, you see." Néela told the angry man.

"Really, little miss? And perhaps you were challenging the pup to a duel too, hmm?" His sarcastic reply ruffled Néela's feathers and she bristled angrily.

"Sure." She turned to the flabbergasted Danlon. "Is it okay by you if I use knives?" She asked.

"Uhh, okay...?" The young man said.

"Excellent! Let's see you get beaten by Danlon, then. That'll teach you to stay out of the training grounds, woman. Danlon; go easy, I don't want any fatal or permanent damage." The instructor barked out.

"Yes sir," Danlon replied before getting into the fenced in ring with solid dirt ground. He started to take position with his short sword as Néela drew her two knives from their secret hiding places in her skirts. They had been a gift from Éomer and were slightly curved blades the length of her lower arm, decorated with a fine silver carving of runes along the blade. The one said _Defender of __Rohan __beauty_ and the other said _Death of __Rohan __foe._The handles were bound by leather and each had a small knob of silver, shaped like horse's heads with jade eyes, for balancing the blade perfectly.

When Néela took position with her right knife held like a sword, lifted and ready to strike or stab, and the left one held along her forearm as a sharp defence, ready to slice or ward off enemy blades, the men whistled and started to whisper among themselves about her fine weapons and apparent experience with them.

"How about a bet, Danlon?" Néela said, just loud enough for only him to hear.

"What did you have in mind?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow a bit.

"I win, I get to ask you anything I want for an hour." She said.

"And If I win?"

"Name your price." She grinned ferally.

"A kiss. For an hour." He said, thinking he had an easy duel and possibly even easier female companionship ahead of him.

_That would really ruin my chances to gain access to Isa, _Néela thought. _Not to mention destroy my newly gained reputation as a respectable woman._

Danlon saw her blanch a bit at his proposition and smirked as he thought he had gotten her to back down from the bet.

"Deal." Néela heard her voice reply in defiance to the arrogance before her. _What? DEAL?? What happened to conferring with me before answering, you moron? –Oops, sorry. Oh, forget it, just don't loose, got it? Okay, got it. __Yeesh__!_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the instructor who yelled; "Ready? Fight!" And then the game started.

Danlon started circling her to gauge her footwork and balance and looking for an opening in Néela's defence. There were none.

She had been taught patience well for all the times she had engaged in a premature attack to be cut down by Éomer, and she held her ground, letting the young man circle her, following his position and anticipating an attack.

Being the aggressor seemed to fit Danlon's personality fine, as he suddenly lounged with a series of short, precise strikes against Néela's body and legs. The first two she blocked with her left dagger and the third she jumped over as it was a sweep at her shins. Her dress got caught in the sword's path and got a long rip just above the knee, making the fabic hang as a large garland in front of her.

Not wanting to trip in the rags, Néela quickly backed away from her assailant and tore the rest of the fabric off so that her legs were free. Her Knee high boots covered her calves, but her knees and part of her shapely thighs were visible. This caused a riotous applause from the all male spectators, turning her cheeks crimson and her mood foul.

She saw that her bared legs were distracting her opponent and attacked in a flurry of a right handed strike from above, followed by ducking a desperate swing from the sword, leaning her to the left and returning to backhandDanlon in the face with her right hand and bringing her left dagger up to slice at his body, a move he luckily saw and avoided at the last minute. His posh, embroidered shirt got cut from hip to chest though and when he saw how close he had come to being gutted, he fumed in rage.

"What is wrong with you, woman? You could have killed me! That was my favourite shirt!" He raved.

"Pretty, too," She hissed. "Shouldn't have brought it to a fight then, huh?"

He huffed, and would have answered, but the instructor barked with laughter and told him to get his head in the fight in stead of on the pretty lady's legs, lest he wanted to buy the éored their ale for the rest of the month.

He charged in rage, which was of course a mistake, and Néela sidestepped him to her right twirled around on her left foot and kicked Danlon straight legged in the midriff, stopping him in his track and making him double over, gasping for a breath of air. As he stumbled to his knees, Néela jumped on his back and snaked her right arm around his neck, ready to cut his jugular whilst her left blade touched the back of his neck, making it impossible for him to head butt her.

"You're dead." She whispered into his ear.

Silence.

Then someone in the crowd uttered quiet; "I think I just fell in love." Applause, laughter and loud whoops erupted in a cacophony of noise, and calls of ale went out to the defeated soldier.

As the tension in Danlon's body slowly left him, Néela jumped off and offered a hand up with a smile. Her golden hair was flowing wildly about her flushed face, her green eyes were clear and bright and a sheen of sweat shone off her skin from the adrenaline. She looked like a warrior angel of the ancient tales.

"Didn't see that one coming," He muttered as he accepted her hand and brushed himself off.

"You probably looked at my size and saw weakness, my gender and saw tenderness, at my age and saw inexperience, right? When in stead you should have expected speed, distraction and flexibility in those qualities. Never underestimate an enemy, kid." She said and smiled sisterly at him, effectively establishing that she was not available for any more of his silly advances, but extending an olive branch at the same time. "It was a lesson I learned a hard way myself." She added.

"Actually, I just saw your gender and assumed all of those things," he admitted grudgingly. "But how about if i buy you a mug along with one for each of these dogs, and you can ask me those questions? And maybe i can convince you that I'm not a total idiot in the mean time." He said gesturing over his shoulder at the howling crowd.

"Lead the way." She said.

She found out a lot about Danlon's history during that evening. His likes and dislikes and eventually, she decided that even though he was a bit pompous, he was a nice enough kid. He'd gone to school until he was fifteen, when he enlisted to follow in his father's footsteps. His age was now eighteen, though he looked slightly older, which got him in trouble sometimes when his inexperience didn't match what people expected of him. Like when he had approached the carpenter's young wife because he didn't know she was married, or when he had been drunk out of his mind, trying to keep up with a veteran and ended up throwing up on a superior officer. Both cases ended in bruises and raging headaches.

He remembered Isa well from school, and had seen her watch the training grounds, but he had never gotten up the courage to talk to her, because she was the village Lord's daughter. The admission made him stutter slightly and look into his mug.

"I might be able to help you get to her, Danlon." Néela said. "I'm supposed to be her governess, you see. And if you help me a little bit, I'll see what I can do for you, deal?"

He looked puzzled for a bit and then; "Valar free us from scheming womenfolk. But yes, you have a deal." He shook her hand and gave her a tentative smile.

"I'll be off then. See you later Danlon." She rose and winked at him as she threw the torn piece of fabric of her dress over her shoulder and sauntered out of the common room tent of the éored camp. She whistled on her way home, a plan forming clearly in her mind. Tomorrow was going to be a good day she decided.

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I know it's a bit boring but it will get better, I promise.

I welcome any critisism or comments.


	15. Chapter 15

**It's short, but at least it was fast, right?**

Chapter 15

Her sore muscles after the duel had been a testiment to how long it had been since she had last practised, so she had decided to spend an hour every day honing her skills and keeping her mind and body ready for a fight. Éomer had taught her a technique where she went through the movements of battle with slow, deliberate moves and focused on the tension in her muscles, the pace of her breathing and her balance.

After repeating a long series of motions in this controlled fashion several times, she would explode out of the subdued tempo and repeat the dance in a flurry of knives, punches, kicks, evasive manouvres and spinning jumps. It effectively made her body learn and automize the patterns of battle so that when the time came for the real thing, she wouldn't have to tell it every movement, and thus gaining a shorter reaction time while freeing her mind to focus on other things, like her opponent's moves and strategy.

She could almost hear _him_ instructing her when she eased through her routines, sometimes experimenting with new techniques. _'Keep your edges against your opponent's flesh, but parry with the tang or the flat side, that the sharpness of the blade isn't compromised'._ Néela dropped to the ground in a flat spin, kicking her leg out to swipe the feet of her invisible enemy in slow motion. _'Watch your balance. If he evades you, you must regain your footing fast, and if you make contact, the stop of momentum can tip you off your foot'. _What she wouldn't give to hear his real voice.

Sweat was tickling down her back in the warm spring sun and soaking her hair from within. Her light tunic reached her mid thigh and had slits at the sides that allowed her to move freely and the breeze to cool her damp skin. It was tied to her waist with a belt, but other than that she had bare feet and legs and her hair tied into a practical braid. She kept working until her arms and legs shook in fatigue and her breaths were short and panting. It was time to get ready for her daily lessons with Isa.

She went to her small bathroom and cursed when she realised that she had forgotten to heat water for her bath. Filling a small tub of cold water from the indoor pump and getting udressed, she mentally prepared herself for the upleasant experience of a cold wash. Dunking her entire head under the water, she squealed and laughed at herself under the surface. As she pulled her head out and swung her hair back, the icy water ran down her back, making her gasp and shake with goose bumps. Her scalp was pleasantly tingling now as she combed out her hair before it dried into tangles.

Then, after quickly washing over her body with a piece of cloth, she took the tub at emptied it over her head, making herself scream and gasp at the cold shock. Jumping in one place and trying to shake the cold out of her limbs, she wrung out her hair and wiped the majority of water off her body. She turned to reach for a towel and saw a completely flabbergasted Uldred staring at her with a piece of firewood lifted above his head.

Néela startled noticably and expected him to turn around and avert his eyes, but he was apparently frozen to the spot as his eyes travelled over her dripping wet, creamy skin, her pert pink nipples, the flat of her stomach and the gentle, soft curves of her body. "Uldred!" She shouted as she tore the towel in front of herself. "What on earth are you doing??".

His dazed eyes lifted to her outraged expression, and suddenly the spell was over. "OH! Dammit!" He cursed as he quickly squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I'm so sorry, Néela! I just heard you scream and I thought you might be in trouble. I never meant to... I'll be going now!" Uldred turned around and tried to storm out of her house with his eyes still closed and a furious blush running rampant across his freckled cheeks. His leg caught on a stool and he went down flat on his face, hands at his sides.

She couldn't help it; She just started giggling and it turned into a full laugh within seconds. When Uldred didn't get up but just groaned out of pure shame, she took pity on him. "It's okay, Uldred. I'll be out in a minute, make yourself at home." Shutting the door to her bathroom and quickly drying off to get dressed.

When she came out, fully dressed and presentable once more, he was gone. Néela sighed and sat down in a chair, pulling her knees up to her chest. _I guess this proves Gertrude right, _she thought. _He is infatuated with me. Otherwise he could have stayed and laughed at the accident with me, but I guess it was too embarrassing for him to let me se his reactions like that. I really need to talk to him, tell him that he is too precious to me to risk our friendship, and that I cannot see him as more._

She threw a pillow at the far wall in frustration and got up to go to Elfhelm's home and her job as Isa's governess. She had two weeks ago negotiated with the girl to give her three hours of her time every afternoon, and in return Néela would teach her how to become a capable matriarch of a household, as well as feed the girl tidbits of information about Danlon, who she apparantly had had a chrush on for about two years.

The downside was that Isa thought of her as a chamber maid and fully expected Néela to pick up after her, do her hair, bind her corsets, fill her bath and of course listen to endless accounts of gossip. The work she might be able to endure if she could at least have done it without the insessant sound if Isa's nasal voice, telling her who had kissed who, what the latest fashion in gowns was, and how allegiances in the ranks of lords and ladies changed from day to day.

".. And did you know that Karl once courted Gianna until her father sent her to Edoras because Karl's family is poor even though they are noble? Oh, I so miss Gianna, she has such perfect taste for decorating and table arrangements. She sent me a letter last week saying that the king was getting engaged soon to this girl from Gondor, and that she had met this handsome lord at court. But of course he doesn't match up to her image of Karl. I wonder, though if she really would have married Karl or if she just pines after him still because she couldn't have him."

Néela had stopped brushing the strand of Isa's hair that she held in her hand and stared at her face ind the mirror blankly. The girl didn't notice, but continued to chatter.

_Engaged. Engaged... Engaged! He's getting married? But... When did... I can't... NO! __Please, NO!_

"I think I need to lie down, Isa. I'll see you tomorrow." She interrupted the girl, who just shrugged her shoulders and took the brush from her. Lifting up her skirts, Néela sprinted through the town with tears streaming down her face, not caring about the startled cries of the people she bumped into or the frightened horse that nearly kicked her.

_I have to go, _was all that was running through her mind. _Right now._

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Éomer was nearly hidden behind stacks of scrolls and mountains of books piled up on his desk. The day was sunny and ideal for being outside. Maybe taking Firefoot for a good run across the plains or practising swordfighting with Éothain. But he had work to do. Important work, though tedious and complicated. What more was that he would be obliged to escort the gondorian princess around under scrutiny of every counsil member and noble with a wagging tongue, and somehow that thought didn't appeal to him very much.

With a huff he dove into the books once more, engaging himself in the intricacies of Rohirric laws and cultures. It had soon become apparent to him that in order to write new laws, he had to know all the previously written ones so that antagonistic paragraphs that might cause trouble didn't arise. There was a pattern and a system to each and every line in the extensive body of work that was the law.

He needed to be perfect when he passed the 'law of hospitality towards those in need'. It needed to be formulated in a way that neither infringed on the private property laws, nor opened opportunities for someone to prey on those that could least afford it. Rohan's population was a modest people, at best, and no individual families should be caught in this law and forced to give up sustenance that they could not afford to lose.

There was also the aspect that if he presented a new law for the counsil, they would scrutinize it and challenge it at every turn, siding other laws and scenarios against it, and Éomer did not want to seem like an over eager, unprepared or onknowledgable new king. It would undermine his future authority over the counsil, effectively making him a puppet on the throne in the long run.

It had been a relief for him to discover that older traditions were to house any stranger in need, but he understood that those customs had been abandoned when they had been abused by those who sought to harm the Rohan people and steal from them. And as the shadows and threats of Mordor had risen across the lands, spreading fear, people had closed themselves off to anyone unknown.

So no, he would not be taking a stroll in the gardens with Lothiriel, nor riding in the sun with his trusted friend. Besides, Éothain seemed more than happy to keep the princess company these days, leaving èomer to work in his study; to make Rohan a better land for people like Néela.

Néela.

Every blossoming sprout on trees or bushes reminded him of the green in her eyes, and every sound of running water brought him back to days in the forest with her. The spring that was such a relief for others from the harsh winter brought him nothing but painfully bittersweet memories, that only made him long desperately for a different life. When a warm breeze blew though his window and caressed his neck, he thought he would go mad with the need to feel her breath in that exact spot again.

_How can you possess me so when __we can never be together? Tell me what I must do to earn you and I will do it. Erú help me, I fear I cannot stand this torment. Néela... _He closed his eyes and recalled everything he could about her. Her trusting, green eyes that shone with light when she smiled at him. The plump, juicy lips that moved against his and tasted like cherries when he kissed her. Her light body which easily lifted against him when they embraced.

He remembered the feel of her silky hair flowing through his fingers and how perfectly her soft breast fit in his hand, making her moan deeply when he ran a thumb over the peak. Her skin had been smooth as velvet against his face and body, and when he had been sheethed inside her, his world had disappeared and centered around her. The thought alone made him shiver at the distant pleasure, trying to bury his mind in the memories in stead of waking up to the desolate truth.

"My lord?" A timid voice broke his reverie and snapped his attention back to his study.

"Yes, Princess?" He blushed and remained seated, afraid that she would read him and guess what he had been thinking.

"I was wondering if... If you would like to go to the shooting range with me?" She asked reluctantly. Éomer realized that he might have been an ungracious host, but he just couldn't bring himself to play a sherade with this sweet girl. She was graceful, had great humour and intelligence, she was absolutely beautiful and he had come to respect her a great deal.

"Lothiriel, I... I have a lot of work to do today. Maybe you should ask Éowyn? Or I could send for Éothain to keep you company..."

She lit up in a smile. "Éowyn is resting her bow muscles today, it seems that learning a new skill is taxing on her condition. But I would be glad of Éothain's company." A slight blush crept across her features.

"It will be so then." Éomer smiled his own relieved smile at her.

"Maybe you can join us if you finish early, my Lord?" She said with a relaxed smile.

"That would require something from you, Lothiriel." He said, looking seriously at her.

Her smile faultered in insecurity. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Call me Éomer when we're in out of the city, please. I can't stand all of these titles." He gave an exhasperated grin at her.

She relaxed once more and laughed. "You've got it. My Lord." And then she turned and left the study to go find Éothain.

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That night, dinner in the great hall was a more pleasant affair for Éomer than the previous weeks. He had spent a few hours prior, shooting bows with Éothain and Lothiriel, and once it was obvious that she had no real romantic interest in him, he could relax a bit and enjoy the banter between the three of them. He caught Éothain giving him a few cautious stares, but thought nothing of it at the time. It just felt good to be outside again.

Since Éomer had become king, everyone dined together in the golden hall at the same time, and there was usually a standing buffet with self service. Every employee, soldier and present lord, lady or cousil member who wished to eat, sat together at that one time of the day. There would be no special servings later on for those who looked down at their noses at such a custom.

Éomer was a military man at heart, and though he knew that ranks were important to maintain during daily operations, fellowship, loyalty and solidarity was even more so, and he tried to mitigate this message to his subjects. Hopefully it would unite the people with it's nobility towards a common goal; Rebuilding Rohan to a strong and proud nation of wealth and well being.

So, starting with the customs in the great hall was a small step, albeit a hard one, towards eviscerating class difference in the minds of the people. Leading by example, such as it were, was resisted, muttered about and a few of the more conservative lords had tried hunger striking against the idea. Fortunately the pampered peacocks had never experienced real hunger and were soon back at the tables, trying to ignore the cook and the chamber maid keeping them company.

"... I would have beaten Éomer too, if he hadn't cheated," came a haughty voice from across the table.

"Oh, I'm sure you would, good sir," Lothiriel laughed at him.

"Ha! Your skills with a bow equal a ten year old girl, Éothain! Stop being a sore looser and accept that no one will ever, EVER, beat me at a game with a weapon." Éomer boasted.

"Wait, didn't I see Néela beat you in a duel of knives once?" Éothain spoke without thinking.

Every soldier that had served under Éomer during his time as a marshal quieted and turned towards their king, wary of his reaction. The rest of the hall soon realised the change in mood and also turned towards the head table in puzzlement.

Deciding to not add to the awkward silence, Éomer said; "Yes, that's right. I amend that no _man_ will ever beat me at a game with weapons, then." Pretending that her name didn't stab him in the heart when he heard it out loud, he smiled too widely at Éothain. The small talk at the tables resumed and he was once more ignored, much to his bliss.

"Please excuse me, Princess, Éothain." He rose with a glare at Éothain, who sat with wide eyes, furiously contemplating how to retract his words and remove his foot from his mouth.

"Éomer, I'm sorry!" Éothain finally whispered.

"It matters not," Éomer said tiredly. "Good night, my Lady." He bend to lightly kiss Lothiriel's knuckles.

When he looked up, his eyes caught a sight that made him believe he was hallucinating. She stood in the open door to the hall with the setting sun behind her. Her hair was wind swept and wild and she looked as if she had been on the road for weeks.

She was a vision to him. Until he notices her eyes, they were not smiling. It looked as if her heart had been torn from her chest at that very moment; as if she had just been delt a killing blow. She turned and disappeared right before Éomer let go of the princess' hand and ran out the front doors to persue his phantom.

Just as he burst through the opening the sun gave up its final light and died. Éomer looked around franticly at the street of his childhood city and shouted out like a desperate man;

"NÉELA!"

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**Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Readers are awesome and reviewers rule the world. ****End of story. Well... Maybe not of **_**this**_** story, but you get my drift. **

**A special thanks to GypsyWitchBaby, wondereye, Whisoeroak88 and DarkAngelPearl for always jumping at the chance to r/r. I kinda get the feeling y'all are just waiting for the chapters to ping in? :P You rock!**

Chapter 16

"I'm going mad." He said to the stars. "Stark raving mad. Seeing-things-that-aren't-there-mad. Valar help me, my reign will be named as 'the Time of Éomer the Madman'!"

"Probably, if you don't stop talking to yourself and running after ghosts..." Éothain spoke up. He had followed his friend at his sudden departure, thinking that there was trouble. And indeed there was.

Éomer whirled around. "Did you see her?? She was standing in the door and then she turned around and ran!"

"Who, Éomer? Néela? I heard you shout her name, but I thought you said she was safely tucked away in Adorheim?" The young marshal gestured to the west.

"Not in those words," Éomer grumbled. "And it's not like she's being held prisoner there. It might be real! She might be here!"

"Éomer, I'm going to say this as your friend. Go rest. In the morning, see a healer, and then take a few days off! You've been working obsessively in papers and books for weeks now, and it's affecting your health. Don't you see? We need you to be sane. To be able to govern." Éothain pleaded.

Éomer growled at his friend. "I'm well aware of my responsibilities, Éothain. I'm keeping every one of them to the letter. I've sacrificed _everything_ I ever wanted for them, so don't talk to me about my responsibilities!" He then sighed and rubbed his eyes. "If I get a reprieve from my mind every now and again, I will keep it for myself, and I will not let it affect my ability to rule. But don't ask me to go see a healer. I will go mad if I'm not allowed this little bit of... Well, madness."

Éothain chuckled at the oxymoron. "Alright. Maybe you forgot, oh mad king, but you are in fact _king_. And I couldn't force you to do anything even if I wanted. Which I don't, by the way. You seem to have a healthy grasp of your insanity, so to speak, so I'll let it be for now. But don't think I'm not watching you." He poked a finger repeatedly at Éomer's chest to mark his point.

In the past, these antics would have gained him a smile, or even a good beating from his friend, but Éomer just sighed again. "Alright... I'm going to bed..." As he trudged off, eyes to the ground, Éothain heard him mumble; "Maybe I'll find my ghost elsewhere..."

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Néela had jumped off the side of the stairs when she had heard someone following her out of the hall. It was a ten feet drop and she had hurt her ankle when landing on her feet before dropping into a roll. Now she sat, cowering in the corner between the stair and the massive stone foundation.

She had heard Éomer call out her name.

It had been all she could do to not let out a loud sob and she had nearly suffocated in trying not to gasp for air, hands holding her mouth and nose shut. She knew she had no claim to him at all, and she couldn't face him to explain that she had come in a jealous panic, afraid to lose him to another woman. It had all been explained to her and was part of the plan, for Erú's sake! Éomer would have to marry someone else to produce an heir. All the way to Edoras she had argued with herself to turn around and stop trying to embarrass herself, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Couldn't bring herself to accept that he was gone.

And then he had cried her name.

She once more knew that he still remembered her. And selfish as it was, somewhere inside she was happy that he sounded as miserable as she felt inside. When she heard him talk of his madness, she knew that she would not be able to leave, even if it would destroy her to see him with the Princess. So she waited until the two men had gone inside once more and got up and limped out of her hiding to go put Halla in the stables.

A young page came running out to her when he heard the clopping og hooves on the cobble stones. "Good evening Miss," he said, reaching for Halla's tack. "I'm Erland. May I help you install your horse?"

"Yes, please." She hiccuped, still not having shed her tears freely.

"Miss? Are you allright?" The boy asked. "You don't look well."

"I might need... To lie down a bit." She lied. What she needed was to be held in the arms of her king while she cried over the injustices of her life, but that was hardly the right thing to say to a boy who just wanted to be kind. Nor did she want to indulge herself in self pity.

"Well, let me get this little lady settled for the night and I'll take you to Hannah, the matron of the hall. She'll set you up, I'm sure. I'll be back in half an hour." He said and pulled Halla down the long hallways of the stable to find her a stall.

Néela started wandering through the magnificent stables, finally letting her tears roll down her cheeks freely. She could vividly imagine how these stables would be bustling with activity of many riders during the day. She could even almost feel the presence of the king and breathed in the air that smelled of hay, horses and oiled leather, much like her lord had.

Even lit by only lanterns she could see the delicate carvings in the wood of horses and riders, depicting everyday scenes of folings, breaking and training to armies and battles in full armor. They were absolutely beautiful. Most of the horses were asleep, but a few stuck out their heads to greet her as she walked by, their dark, gentle eyes making her feel comforted.

She reached the end of the hallway and found a familiar face. "Hello Firefoot," She said quietly to the enormous black stallion. "How have you been?"

The horse gave a louf huff and bobbed his head up and down at her. "Yeah, me too... But what can you do, right?" Néela reached out a hand to lay on the silky muzzle and gently blew a sigh into the nostril to greet him in his own language, all the while keeping her teary eyes slightly to the side.

Firefoot settled down almost immediately and allowed her to stroke his face and neck.

Then the horse sniffed her face and started to lick the tears off of her, causing Néela to give a half sob, half giggle at the silliness. "Guess you like the salt, huh boy?" She said. "Too bad I have horse slobber all over me now. Scoot over, I'm coming in to borrow some hay, I want to wipe my face."

As she entered the roomy booth by sliding the door to the side she saw that there was a large pile of fresh hay in the corner, and that the stall had been cleaned the same day. "Nice place you have here," she said to Firefoot.

The giant horse pulled his head into the booth and rounded on Néela, watching her move into the far corner where the hay was. As she sat in the hay and wiped the spit off her face, she realised how tired she was from the previous weeks of hard riding. Trying to get back up, she was pushed roughly from behind and fell on her face into the hay stack.

"Hey! Cut that out!" She giggled at the great stallion, who continued to push her into the corner of his booth. Every time she made an attempt to get up, the horse would push er down again with his head. This game went on for quite a while, and Néela wasn't sure how to convince the horse that she actually was tired of playing and wanted to get up.

"Fine. I'll just stay here for a while and relax until they come get me, you stubborn mule!" She pouted and crossed her arms. The soft grassy hay was warm and dry, however, and exhaustion finally caught up to her as Firefoot stood and chewed on straw blithely, so she was soon asleep.

Nobody ever came to get her that night.

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She was very comfortable, if a bit hot, and there was a slight rustle of straw combined with the grinding noise of a horse chewing. Comfortable sounds. And soft breathing behind her as well as a solid weight over her waist. She was dreaming.

The heavy weight around her waist tightened and pulled her backwards against a warm chest that was moving in time with the breaths that tickles the hair on her neck. There was no doubt in her mind who the dream was gifting her with. As smooth lips joined the breath at the junction between neck and shoulder, she let out a deep sigh and arched her back against the pleasure, inadvertently pushing her rear against hard lust.

A deep groan vibrated through her, making her nipples stand erect. Strong hands gently fingered the collar of her shift, tied together by a string along the neckline, trying to bare more skin for the worshipping lips. She pulled once on the string and her shoulder was naked before her lover. The fingers ran reverently across the smooth sun kissed skin before lips joined their path.

"_Éomer,"_ she whispered.

The hand ran up her neck as the body behind her pressed into hers in a slow rhythm as old as time. Teeth grazed her shoulder hard enough to elicit slight pain, but not enough to break skin. She pulled her arm back to touch the body lying against her, and her neckline opened to reveal a rosy, erect bud.

She reached for her own breast with her lower hand and softly massaged herself. There was a moan of almost pain from the lips on her shoulder.

"Don't move, Néela." He said in a strained, rough voice. "Wake up sweet phantom. I need to see your eyes."

Her consciousness returned fully to her and she slowly opened her eyes to turn and stare bewildered at the man lying behind her. His expression was pained and focused at her with intense force.

"Éomer?"

"I want you to see that it is me when I take you to my bed," he ground out between clenched teeth. "But you make it so hard for me to restrain myself right now."

Along with consciousness came self awareness, and Néela suddenly realised that she was half naked in the royal stable with a man who would have great trouble hiding his desire, should the be discovered. She tried to cover up her chest and tried to sit up.

A guttural growl sounded before she was abruptly pulled onto her back and Éomer was above her, once more gently parting her clothes to expose her to him. He looked like a starved man as his eyes met hers. "Never shall you hide from me, my phantom, for I will not have it."

She looked up at him, startled at the animal she saw in him, but realised that he thought her an illusion of his craving mind, just as she had heard him tell his friend the night before.

"Éomer, I'm real," She said as she put her hands on either side of his face. "I'm really here. I came when I heard that... That you were getting engaged to the gondorian. I'm crazy, and I know I don't have claim, but..." She lowered her eyes to his heaving chest. "I don't want you to marry her!" The words blurted out of her, and she looked up at him with shocked green eyes.

There was a brief moment of clarity and a relief so deep it seeped through his entire being before his lips were on hers, softly claiming her and tasting the plump sweetness once more. He nipped and caressed until she responded and slid her arms fully round his neck. When she opened her lips, he deepened the kiss to taste her tongue and mouth. Her gentle aroma filled him and he sighed with the blessed feeling of coming home at last.

The intesity slowly rose as minutes went by, both were trying to reaquaint themselves with the other with taste and touch. Éomer had her in both his arms as he rolled on top of her swiftly and without putting all his weight on her. The hard desire for her was pressed against her through layers of clothes, but made her squirm in pleasure none the less.

The loud growl of Néela's stomach abruptly stopped them both and they looked at each other, panting and swollen lips turning into grins as they realised how carried away they had gotten. Éomer leaned his forehead against hers and sighed deeply.

"When was the last time you ate, Néela?" He asked.

"A few days ago, I think. Why do you ask?" She said, contemplating her resent time on horseback.

"A few... Days?? What were you thinking, woman?" He looked outraged at her. "Come on, get up. I need to feed you."

He pulled her to her feet and quieted any protests she might have had with a quick and deep kiss that left her somewhat dizzy. His arm snaked around her waist as he led her through the stables and up to the great hall of Meduseld. There was an early morning quiet stretched across the city and no one was seen in the streets as the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon in the east.

Éomer was able to relish in the beauty of his country for the first time in long, long months, and he drew a deep breath as they ascended the stairs, arms around each other. He led her to the left before entering the great hall and down a long narrow corridor, before he turned to the right and entered a large room with plush carpeted floors and an enormous fireplace at the other end. There was a large desk filled with books and a canopy bed draped in thin silks, the mattress covered with thick linen and furs. Several book shelves lined the walls and in one corner was an armoire with Éomers shiny armour and weapons on display. Atop of it stood the crown.

"Come inside. There is a bath next door with hot water, make yourself at home while i call up for some food for you." He pointed to an adjoining door to the left.

"This is your quarters." Néela stated.

"Yes, and you are most welcome here, I assure you."

"I can't stay here, Éomer. The political ramifications for you if I do..." She started to back out the door.

His eyes darkened as he grabbed her shoulders and faced her fully. "Now you listen to me Néela. I am the king of this country, lord of this house, and if i see fit to grant a guest of mine the comforts of my private rooms, I will! You will not worry yourself about these matters, for they are not yours to worry about. Now please, do as i say. Go relax and take a long bath, and I will procure us breakfast."

She looked doubtful for a moment until she surrendered to his will. She smiled slightly at him, making his heart flutter. "Will there be soaps and perfumes and bath salt for my soon to be pampered skin, then?"

Éomer blanched a little. "No, sadly the bath is only used by one male, who isn't particularly finnicky about how he smells. But let me see what I can do, okay?"

Néela's eyes glazed over slightly at the image of Éomer in a bath, and she leaned closer to him, inhaling deeply through her nose. "I am glad that you don't share the facilities with others, my lord, and I think your scent is perfectly fine. A man shouldn't smell of flowers and bath oils, but of leather, sun and salt... In my opinion at least." Her voice had a husky quality to it and Éomer swallowed thickly.

"I will be back in a little while... Nobody will disturb you here." He said as he reluctantly broke her spell and hurried out the door. Néela smiled self satisfactory and turned to the bath room, dropping pieces of her clothing as she went. A hot bath was exactly what she needed after weeks on horseback.

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Éomer knocked loudly on the wooden door with floral carvings. "Éowyn, are you in there?" He shouted.

His fair sister quickly opened the door n her nightgown with an apprehensive expression. "What is it? Is there trouble?"

"I need bath salts and oils, and if you have some that don't smell like a pharmacy or a gaggle of gondorian noblewomen, that would be good. And not vanilla either, please. That makes me gag."

"Bath salts??" She asked incredulously. "For what?"

Éomer gave her a look that said he seriously questioned her intelligence just then. "A bath, of course."

"Well, sure. But who... You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know!" And with that she disappeared into her rooms. She came back with a pouch filled with the things that he had asked for and said, "And I don't want any of it back!" – before she slammed the door shut.

He then set course for the kitchens, thinking that two big breakfasts with everything was just what was needed now.

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**Ridiculously long update time, I know. And I'm so sorry. Somehow it's easier to stumble over other people's great stories than to write my own, but never fear; It will go all the way eventually.**


	17. Chapter 17

There's some.. ahem... Intimate moments ahead. Please bear in mind the rating.

Chapter 17

Éomer came through his bedroom door and saw a pair of small sized knee bots laying on the floor, starting the small trail that consisted of stockings, vestments, a skirt, a shift and finally small clothes in a line that led towards his bathroom. The door was open and all was quiet in there.

He indulged himself in imagining the sight of the curvy woman who owned those clothes, sauntering naked through his room for just a minute.

Néela was soaking in hot bliss when she felt a change in the air on her face and neck. Her head was resting on the edge of the copper tub with a thick cloth as a pillow and her eyes were closed. She knew Éomer had come back with whatever it is he went to procure. A small smile spread across her lips when he entered the bathroom.

He walked in quietly on bare feet and sat on a chair at her head.

"Wet your hair." Was all he said. She slid down until she was fully submerged and sat back up. Éomer unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off as she cleared her face of water. He took a bar of soap and started to lather his hands. "Sit back."

Néela scooted back to the end of the tub and Éomer reached out to touch her shoulders with slightly shaky hands. His hands were never shaky. As he made contact, Néela's head fell forwards and she let loose her breath. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was a on edge. He started to rub her skin and underlying muscles in slow circular motions, moving from her shoulders to her neck and down her back. His hands spread out and slid up her ribs and she held her arms out to allow him access.

When he was done washing her arms he went on to massage her scalp and hair, filling the long strands with soapy bubbles. Néela moaned in bliss as he released tension from her body, and the sound sent a pleasant jolt to his already straining loins. He stilled for a moment before continuing, gathering his concentration and self discipline. It wasn't time yet. _Later_.

"Rinse."

Again, Néela slid down, but in stead of submerging her body and head, she arched her back and neck, dipping her hair and washing out the soap.

Éomer had stopped breathing and stared at her in shock. Her long slender neck, full perky breasts and the top of her belly was bared to him, wet and rosy from the heat. The relatively chilly air made the dark pink nipples harden before his eyes, and he swallowed thickly. The pressure in his leather breeches had become most constricting and every instinct told him to take her immediately, but he would not.

She sat back up and the moment was gone. Néela had not been aware of the torment she was putting him through, and looked in the pouch next to the tub for whatever bathing luxuries she could find. The salt and the scented oil was still in there, so she took them out and opened them, all the while Éomer watched her in a trance.

"Which ones do you prefer?" She turned to ask him. "The salt with lavender or the oil of rose?"

Éomer cleared his throat and leaned in to sample a whiff of either one, only to scrunch up his nose at both. "Neither, they both smell of my sister."

Néela let out a soft giggle. "Yes, I can see why that will not do."

He didn't answer, but looked in her eyes, hungry for her touch. She returned his gaze until she slowly slid to the other end of the tub with the soap in hand. As he watched her, she lathered up her hands and then lifted a leg out of the water to slowly wash first her foot, her calf and her thigh, resting it on the edge of the tub.

He was now painfully throbbing, and sat back to relieve some of the pressure. When that didn't help, he loosened the string and almost sighed in relief as he sprung free from the confines of the leather. Seeing Néela's reaction to the sight of him soon had the tension returning though.

Her eyes had widened considerably before her pupils dilated and then became lidded with lust. The expression on her face encouraged him to start gently stroking himself as he watched her bathe.

She then repeated the process of washing the other leg, and as she slid her hands into the warm water, she looked at him again, touching and sliding over her own folds. Her knees were peeking out of the water at either side of the tub and a beautiful blush had spread across her cheeks as her hands mimicked Éomer's on her own body.

Her eyes roamed over his tanned skin and she appreciated each ripple of muscle underneath the smoothness as he stroked up and down his veined shaft in a constant rhythm. His eyes never left her and she nervously bit her lower lip at the intensity in them. Éomer was by all accounts a large and powerful man and she was slightly intimidated by him just then.

_So beautiful. So masculine. Mine._

She decided then and there that now was entirely too late to be shy. "So... Are you joining me or not?" She said.

A devilish smile spread on his lips as he rose from the chair and shed the remainder of his clothes.

"I thought you'd never ask."

He stepped into the tub and sank to his knees between her feet.

"I didn't know I had to," she smiled crookedly as he crawled up her body on his hands.

"Only once. So I'll know I haven't made you do anything against your will." He whispered against her ear as he held himself suspended above her, stiff as a board and pulsing with need.

She turned her head to him and grazed his unresponsive lips with hers.

"Kiss me."

The dam of his self control broke and he immediately deepened the kiss to taste her, their tongues dancing furiously to absorb the other. Her arms embraced him as he sank to lay above her, his sex nudging her center.

Her taste was sweeter than he could ever have remembered and he revelled in the feeling of her soft breasts pressing up against his chest as well as her arms being wrapped around him with her hands pressing against his back and neck. It had been too long.

He smoothly pressed into her in one long stroke, breaking the kiss and groaning deeply into her mouth even as she let out a loud moan. Her slick walls clenched around him and he stilled himself to keep from exploding. The heat and tightness of her threatened to send him over the edge already.

She wrapped her legs around him and the movement made him jerk involuntarily, plunging him completely into her, but still he tried to hold back his thrusts. Néela began to move against him and recaptured his lips.

He gasped for a breath of air before grabbing hold of her hip. "Stop. Please, just wait."

Her eyes were puzzled as she looked up at him. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"I'll never last if you don't give me a moment, love." He groaned and buried his face at her neck.

Néela smiled deviously and tightened her legs around him. "Well, who asked you to, anyway?" And then she thrust her pelvis against him, making his entire body tense and give into a frenzied rhythm that made tension build in his body from the groin and up. Water was cascading out of the tub, but neither noticed the mess.

Néela's moans of pleasure became louder and more frequent until she finally shook and climaxed, arching her back and grabbing the edges. Her pulsing orgasm clenched around Éomer and along with the sounds of their joined cries and pants of pleasure, it made the building tension rush down to his loins as he exploded and spilled deep inside her.

All he could feel was the woman around him and the hard frantic beating of his heart against his ribs.

He never wanted to move.

But the water was all but gone, and the remaining was rapidly turning cold. Her arms had once more slid around him to hold him tight, but his body heat could not prevent the shiver that went through her.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"No, that was purely out of pleasure." She had a smile on her voice and he knew she was lying.

"Hungry, then? I got us breakfast as I promised."

"Just stay."

"I can't, my knees are hurting." He finally admitted.

As she laughed, the pressure of her body clamped down on his now relaxed member and he slid out of her, sitting up and pulling her with him. As they stood, he reached for a pitcher of warm water and washed off the remaining soap on himself and her.

Wrapped in a towel after having dried off, he reached for an extra and started to rub her hair with it.

"Mmm... You are spoiling me, Your Majesty."

The title stumped him a bit.

"Don't call me that," he said as he continued his ministrations. "I don't feel like a king."

She turned towards him and met his eyes. "But you are the king, Éomer. And a great one you will be at that." Her hand caressed his face as she smiled and gave him a kiss. "Believe me. Even if you don't believe in yourself."

"I..."

He sighed and held her hand against his cheek. "Thank you. I don't know how you knew I needed that, but thank you."

"Anytime. Now feed me!" She turned and sashayed into his bedroom wearing only a towel that covered her lower back and buttocks and nothing more. Éomer stood and enjoyed the sight with a blissful smile on his face.

They ate slowly even though Néela was practically starving. She knew if she ate too fast after her long fast, that she would only upset her stomach in stead. As they ate, they talked about the places they had been and the friends they had made since last they met. Éomer laughed at her story of Danlon and the soldiers, knowing just how skillful she was in a knife fight. He listened to her tell about Isa and her gossip, but when she told about the rumor of his impending engagement, he frowned.

"I have made no such announcements. You should know that."

"I didn't think so. You wouldn't announce that you were _soon _going to be engaged, only that you already were. But I needed to tell you how I felt before you did. I can't stand the thought of it, Éomer. I just can't." Her eyes started to tear up and he moved around the table to hold her.

"Shh, Néela... It's okay... Shh..." He didn't know what to tell her. There was nothing he could do right now to promise her that duty wouldn't obligate him to marry Lothiriel, but he knew she already knew that. Saying wouldn't make her feel any better.

"I'm glad you came. It makes me so happy just to see you again." He whispered.

She breathed deeply into his chest once. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired and it makes me more emotional..."

"Then come to bed with me. We'll talk until we fall asleep and when we wake up I will kiss you until the sun goes down." He smiled and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the bed and stripping them both of their towels.

"But... Don't you have work to do?" She asked.

"Always," He assured her. "But Éothain's been on my back to take a day off and he will finally get his will. I doubt that anyone will complain about it. Come, darling. Lie with me."

She cuddled close and put her head on his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat.

"Is Éothain your friend?" She asked.

"Aye, the very best of friends, too. He'll tell me I'm an idiot when no one else dares, even if it costs him teeth to do it. Of course that doesn't only apply to me – he seems rather uncaring about his health when it comes to holding his tongue. Shall I tell you of our childhood together?"

"Please do. I'd love to hear what kind of boy you were when you were younger." She said.

And as he regailed her with stories of pranks he and Éothain had pulled, how they started their carriers and what other adventures they since then had been on, Néela drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

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**Fluffy with minimal amount of plot, I know. But I thought you deserved a treat after all the heartache I've put you through...**

**Enjoy the respite. And please review.**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Néela awoke in the afternoon to find herself resting comfortably on a shoulder that seemed built for her. Her arm was draped across a broad, muscular chest that slowly rose and fell to the rhythm of respiration, and her leg was tangled between strong thighs. The face of her lover was turned from her, and she admired the straight lines of his jaw and neck, remembering the intoxicating sounds that emitted from his throat when she touched him.

The sheet that covered them lay across their waists and revealed his torso to her ever hungry eyes and her hand moved on it's own volition to caress the wide expanse of gentle plains and valleys of his chest. She explored the relaxed ripples of his stomach and back up along his ribs, memorizing the perfection of the man.

As her soft fingers brushed across his nipple, the bed sheet twitched noticably above her knee, and a large, calloused hand caught hers as he turned his head and smiled serenely at her.

"Would that every morning was as beautiful as this one." He said.

Reality returned to Néela with those simple words, and she frowned slightly. "Would that it was, indeed. But we haven't changed anything, have we?" She said, almost pleadingly. "You are still courting the princess, and I have no claim to you as you are not only a man, but also king, and I am but a commoner."

Éomer's smile faded and was replaced with stone. "Yes. That is the truth of it." He withdrew from her and rose to sit on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "Titles and politics... Sometimes I think the world would be a better place without any of them."

Néela turned to get out of the bed and pulled the sheet around her body, suddenly modest and aware of the fact that she had shared the king's bed as a common mistress. The very thing her father had demanded promise from Éomer would never happen. Oh, how disappointed he would be at her right now. The thought made her heart sink and her cheeks burn with shame.

"I should get dressed..." She said. Her heart sank when she recieved no answer from Éomer. She picked up her randomly discarded clothes and went to the adjacent bathroom to get dressed in private.

As the door clicked shut, Éomer raised his head in surprise. He had been immerged in an idea that sprung from his many hours of plowing through Rohan laws.

If he could write a law that obligated people to open their homes to the needy, he could perhaps change the wording of another law that stated that any queen of the land would have to be of noble birth. Or for that matter that the heir to the throne had to be male.

It was his firm belief that Éowyn would have been a better ruler than he, had she not been set to marry Faramir. Such a loss of leadership should be prevented for future generations, certainly. But the more present subject of the choice of a queen for the ruler lay heavily on his mind. What if he could have everything he wanted? What if, by some miracle, he could have Néela?

The tantallizing thought had made him deaf and blind to the object of his desires for a moment and he had not noticed her disappearance.

He got up and put on his underclothes and breeches. As he opened the door to the bathroom, just as she pulled on her second boot, he noticed the tears that trickled down her cheeks and her jerky, angry movements.

"Néela?" He ventured.

Her head shot up and her panicked eyes found his. She reminded him of a scared filly, and the idea did not sit well with him. She was strong, always had been, but now she was scared of him? Crying, because of him?

"I... I have to go. Your Majesty." She stuttered, and the last words were pushed out of her as if they had burned her to say.

Dread settled in his stomach and he grabbed her arm a bit harder than he had intended. "Stop. Don't do that. Don't run from me or try to push me away with a title."

Anger bloomed in her searing green eyes. "What will you have me do, then? Be your mistress and sneak from your room in the morning when your needs have been met? Forego all my pride and dignity and love you, watch you from the shadows as you marry another woman?"

Her wrath ripped at him and hurt him unexpectedly, though it was better than her fear. "You came to me, remember? I didn't ask you to, so there must be something here that you want. You accuse me of ill intent, when it is you who run off now after our tryst." His thunderous rumble sounded more like acid than hurt and he saw her anger turn to chok.

"Perhaps it was jealousy and not love that sped your way here? Perhaps the power you have over me, or the pleasure of my body is more enticing than the actual man?"

The resounding slap he recieved stopped his rant but did nothing to stem the tide of his emotions. He knew that his words had been cruel and untrue. But he needed her to stay, even in anger. Needed her to stay long enough to know that his intentions were good, even if they lead to their demise. Only, he couldn't promise her anything, yet.

He would not give her false hopes in case he failed to change the laws. So in stead of telling her of his feelings with words that would be untrustworthy, he pushed her against the smooth wooden wall and covered her mouth with his.

He pulled her close with a hand at the back of her neck and an arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground and pinning her lithe frame with his strong body.

Néela opened her mouth to protest, but only managed to moan in pleasure as he pushed himself against her and tasted her tongue. her arguments died in her throat and the hand that had just slapped his face, now wound itself in his hair, trying to find a hold in the maelstrom of her feelings.

There was no air between them, and the blissful feeling of his hard body against hers made her arch and push herself into him in response. Éomer made a low, rumbling sound and pressed back, revealing just how much he wanted her as the unyielding bulge of his pants left no doubt of his desire.

A slow rhythm started as they took turns to push agaist eachother. By instinct, Néela lifted her leg to wrap it around him, only to be stopped by the fabric of her dress. With a frustrated growl Éomer reached down and lifted the skirt to gain access and pulled her bare legs around his waist as he continued to grind against her.

The feeling of her smooth thighs agaist his bare sides nearly drove him beyond the edge of sanity.

"Tell me you want me, Néela." He whispered against her lips. "Tell me that you are mine."

Her voice was airy as her head fell back and she uttered a "yesss," just as Éomer's lips attacked her throat with open mouthed kisses and nibbles.

Just as he reached for the string of his pants there was a loud knock on the door. _"My lord? You are needed at the council for the hearing of the new law"_ Éothain's muffled voice said.

Instantly sobering, Néela pushed him off her and rushed out the other door of the bathroom, the one that led to the storages and servant rooms through narrow hallways.

"Damn!" He uttered before tearing open the door to a baffled and apprehensive Éothain. "Umm... My lord? You may want to put on clothes for this meeting. And perhaps take a minute to, err... Calm down?" He said as he quickly took in his irrational friend's appearance.

Éomer looked down at himself and noticed that he was naked except for his breeches that had been stretched inappropriately during his encounter with Néela. Inappropriate for counsil, at least, if not for the encounter itself.

"Damn." He said again as he slammed the door in the grinning Éothain's face.

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Néela was wandering the halls of Méduseld, thoroughly lost. She wanted to find her horse and her things and change into fresh clothes before she decided what to do next. Éomer's words had rung too true in her ears for comfort. Not the ones where he accused her of not loving him, she knew that wasn't true, and she knew, _he _knew that as well. It had only been lashing out, even if it was untrue.

The words that plagued her were the ones where he questioned her motives for coming to Edoras. She had come because she was jealous. Panicked, franticly and desperately so. A part of her had still felt that when she seduced him, that she wanted to stake her claim on him, even if it wasn't possible in reality.

But she had stayed with him because she loved him. Heavens knew, she did. For those few hours in his arms, she had been completely happy. Of course it only made her current situation that much more conflicting and desolate, for there were no means to return to that moment.

She had tasted perfection and was now deprived of it, and the bitterness of it was an unwelcome flavour on her pallet. There was no escape from the simple truth that she could not leave and go home to her life in exile, knowing that his would continue on a course that brought him further away from her each day.

But staying would accomplish her nothing more than desperate longing, unless she swallowed her pride and became the king's mistress, a wretched and pointless existence born out of necessity and addiction. Eventually it would lead to heartbreak as she would be forced to watch him marry someone else, bed them and empregnate them.

That would be the day that she died, she was sure of it; for there would be nothing left of her. No pride, no joy, and the love she had once felt would be twisted into sick, jealous hatred of a man unable to control his own destiny.

Unable to come up with any answers, she walked around the halls, turning at random and tried to figure out what she should do, when she bumped into a shoulder. Absent mindedly she mumbled "Pardon me." But never looked up from the floor.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Came an authorative voice of a woman.

She finally lifted her eyes and saw lady Éowyn in front of her, hair flowing and dressed in a fine green gown. She knew the lady by sight from earlier visits to Edoras with her father, but had never seen her as an adult, nor up close like this. It was an intimidating sight, and Néela became very conscious of her travel worn clothes and probable bed hair.

"My name is Néela, my lady." She said as she bowed her head. _No reason to fall on my face by trying to curtsy, _she thought.

"Néela?" Éowyn recognized the name very well from hearing it torn from her agonized brother's lips. "What are you doing here?"

Néela didn't hear the familiarity in Éowyn's voice, and thought it a legit question to a stranger found wandering in one's home. Unfortunately, her answers to that question would raise far too many questions and scandals if they were uttered, so she quickly made up her mind to fabricate.

"I was looking for employment, my lady. The stable boy, Erland told me to look for Hannah, but i'm afraid I got lost on my way." _Thank heavens I'm good at remembering names!_

"I would say so," Eowyn chuckled. "That way is the treasury. A more armed person than yourself would be accused of ill intent just by being here uninvited." She was amused by the startled look on Néela's face and the fact that the poor girl felt the need to be discrete about her being there.

Éowyn had of course figured out that her brother's earlier request for luxury items had not been for himself. At the time she thought maybe he had actually made advances towards Lothiriel, but this new revelation made much more sense. He had never been one to carelessly throw gestures at women, and Néela had been the only one she'd ever see him have any feelings for.

"My lady, I swear I didn't know where I was. Even if I am actually more armed than I look." Néela pulled out her two daggers and the knife in her boot and lay them gently at the feet of her lady before stepping back and folding her hands. She regretted the action instantly whan she saw recognition pass over Éowyn's face. _Of course she would know the daggers!_

Éowyn quickly hid her surprise, though and decided to play along with Néela's poorly planned cherade.

"Oh, don't worry, I believe you. As it just so happens, I am in need if a chamber maid. The position is yours if you want it. You seem honest enough." She nearly choked, trying to hold back her mirth by now, but there was no way that her brother would forgive her if she put the girl to work in the Hall, serving under himself and Lothiriel.

Éowyn had never had a personal servant in her life, but she didn't need to tell Néela that.

"I... I would consider it my honour, my lady."

"Right, well I'll lead you to your things and we can get you settled in. Where are they?"

"The stables, I think. Erland took Halla, my horse, to get her settled in." A wave of guilt rolled through her as she thought of her faithful mare and how she hadn't been to check on her.

"Well come with me then." Éowyn said, wondering why her brother hadn't seen to installing the other woman as soon as he found out she had arrived. Perhaps some twisted sense of propriety had stopped him from letting her stay in the Hall, but Éowyn doubted it. She almost snickered when she figured out that it had probably been other urges that had taken his ability to be a gracious host.

Never had she thought that she should see her brother be impulsive enough to forget his duties. This alone would have been reason enough to keep Néela around, even if it hadn't been obvious that he also loved her.

Besides, Lothiriel wasn't even remotely interested in Éomer, if what she had seen between the princess and Éothain was true.

A plan started to form in her mind as they walked through the hallways towards the stables.

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**More to come****. Tell me what you think of the chapter, please :)**

**PS. Spellchecker doesn't work, so I apologize for typos.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Yes, I'm still alive, though mortified that I've kept you all waiting for so long. ****Explanation? Hmm, ok. You do deserve one. Pregnancy, abortion (I wonder if it's karma since i gave Neela one...) and now I'm pregnant again with twins!. That, and my muse was on extended holiday. Please forgive me if you can :)**

Chapter 19

A few days had passed since Éowyn found Néela wandering the corridors, and the time had been spent adjusting to her new home and being introduced to her duties. They were light, to say the least; Bring breakfast after sunrise, make the bed, return the tray, free till noon, then accompany Éowyn to the training grounds for sparring, free till sundown, turn off lights in Éowyn's chambers. Very easy.

She was beginning to wonder if the lady of Rohan had ulterior motives for her employment, such as a cure for loneliness and boredom, as well as a slightly sadistic need to make someone else as miserable as herself regarding to dressing up and acting the lady every day. Éowyn had taken it upon herself to educate Néela in the fine art of courtly manners, table customs - though Rohan wasn't the hardest to figure out by far, if what Éowyn had told her of the gondorians was true - and last but not least; fashion and physical appearance.

Oh, the horror.

Néela had been forced to stand model for various tailors and seamstresses, measuring every conceivable distance, diameter, length and volume of her body in order for various frocks of luxurious fabrics to be constructed for her. She had vehemently protested against such pampering, but Éowyn had simply blown her off by saying that no lady in waiting of hers would be seen every day wearing the same cotton clothes.

Next, she had been seated in Éowyn's chair for hours as the maniacal woman proceeded to do her hair in six different styles to demonstrate which styles brought out her cheek bones and which ones gave her neck extra length and slenderness. Néela thought this to be somewhat hypocritical, seeing as Éowyn herself always had her hair down with the exception of a few strands when she was working, but said nothing.

Last had been a small course in what Néela referred privately to grooming and painting, namely bodily care and make up. She had previously had no idea how complicated some women could make it and how many types of lotions, cremes, cleansers, facial- and body masks, colours of make up and fragrances of perfume was in existence. It was a science in and of itself.

Luckily Éowyn and herself agreed in their scoffing and ridicule of many of these products. They had gotten a good giggle at the idea that all the paint and artifice should be necessary to attract the opposite sex, and that men had truly gone of the bend the day powder and perfume was necessary to catch their attention.

One thing Éowyn had insisted on regarding the accouterments of the feminine boudoir, however, was that Néela had her own perfume created. They spent days in the following weeks, searching for flowers and herbs to find the perfect combination for her natural scent. It was surprisingly fun to combine Néela's own knowledge of herbs with Éowyn's flair for floral fragrances, and the result was quite pretty with a combination of waterlily, ground elder, moss, hyacinth and peppermint.

During her time in apprenticeship with Éowyn she had not talked to Eomér, though she felt his eyes on her every time he was around. Mealtimes in the great hall were excruciating, as he was sitting with the gondorian princess while never taking his eyes off Néela. During her sparring with Éowyn it was downright dangerous, because the feeling of his gaze was highly distracting. Her eyes were drawn to find out where he was watching from, and a moment's inattentiveness was enough for the white lady to fiercely disarm her and demand rematch until she was focused.

Every day she tried to prepare herself for the day it was announced that the king would be marrying; it was as inevitable as the sunset. In the morning, she steeled herself against the onslaught of want that hit her when she saw him and the possibility that today would be the day she finally lost him, and every evening she went to bed remembering every moment he had directed his regards at her.

Yet the situation did not change. How could it? She was still a commoner and he the king. She could marry for love, but he could not. And their last words to each other had been spoken in anger and frustration, so now Néela didn't even know where she stood in his graces. It was a mess.

She knew she shouldn't love him, and she knew she should try to forget him because in reality, they were just not right for one another. At least not in the eye of the public. She also knew that she didn't stand a chance to make this decision to leave and move on. Not as long as there was a chance that he loved her still. Not as long as she had not been delt the killing blow.

One late evening after a particular cosy and girlish session of tea and giggles in Éowyn's rooms, he was waiting for her outside her chamber. He was leaned against her door with his arms crossed and his eyes at the floor.

When he lifted his head and looked at her Néela started at his expression. She had never seen him like this before; There was anger in his eyes, an anger she was sure was directed at her. But at the same time the desire in them made warmth spread in her cheeks and stomach.

"You have been avoiding me."

It wasn't a question, nor did it invite discussion.

"My lord?"

"Don't, Néela. Don't start that again, please." He sounded tired all of a suddenly, which only served to puzzle her.

"What would you have me call you, then?" She asked. "You are my lord, my king and ruler, and I am a servant in your house."

"Not by my design, you're not." He snapped.

"Then what would you have me do, if I were to follow your will then?" She feared deeply that his answer would be 'leave'. But at the same time, it would absolve her of her torturing dilemma that she couldn't bring herself to leave on her own account. "Tell me, for I do not know what to do anymore. I am lost when it comes to you! Stay? Go? Save myself or throw myself into the fire? Don't you see I face desolation or despair no matter what I do? So regarding you as my king is the safe choice. My lord." She lowered her eyes in the demeanor of a dutiful servant.

He stepped closer to her and reached for her face with a gentle hand. "I know," he said as he pushed her hair away from her face. "I know I've hurt you, and that I am still doing so. But I also find comfort in the fact that I could not hurt you so if you feelings for me had waned, and I need them. I need to know that you care for me still."

Eomér sighed and moved to embrace her. "It is a selfish love, and I do regret your pain, dearest heart. But don't stop. Please don't stop, for I need you so."

Her breath hitched as she tried to compose her thoughts, but all she managed was to revel in the fact that she was once more in his arms, safe and cherished. The warmth was irresistible and after a few seconds she relaxed into him, wrapping her own arms around his waist.

She felt him bury his face in her hair and inhaling slowly and deeply the fragrance of her skin and a hint of her personal perfume.

"Stay with me tonight," he said against her neck.

A smile spread on her lips as she heard the confirmation that he still wanted her. "No."

His embrace tightened and he whispered; "I won't touch you unless you want me to, I just want to be near you."

She pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. "I know, and I feel the same, but I cannot. You know we won't be able to stop." Her smile was sad as she memorized his features and the feel of his body against her.

His lips were on hers before she could think another thought, gentle and insistent, soft and firm, steady yet desperate, and she didn't have it in her to protest any more. He held her face carefully to his with one hand while the other pulled her flush against him. Her world was suddenly spinning, not that she payed gravity any mind, and she gasped against his mouth.

With a sigh, he deepened the kiss and merged his fingers with the smooth strands of her golden hair. She was divine, a goddess of seduction and innocence, a sprite to lure him into the mists to be forever lost and the spirit of love and femininity, all in one, he thought. The notion that someone would find her inadequate for anything was preposterous. How could they not see?

The mere sight of her was enough to leave him breathless and her touch stilled the ache that had grown rapidly and steadily in his chest over the past weeks. Observing her from afar was a sweet torture with no promise of relief, and she had steadily and unknowingly drawn him in, bit by bit every day by simply being.

He pitied every other man in the world that they had never known her touch, not that he would ever have that remedied. She was his and his alone in a way that was so basic and primal that there was no logical reasoning behind it. Nevertheless it was so, through and through. He had only to claim her, to publicly make it known, to have her by his side.

He was so close with the litigation to be able to change the wording of the laws that decreed the succession and marriage to the throne. So close to having everything he wanted.

The thought made him push against her until she was between himself and the wall, and her every curve molded to his form. Her moan nearly drove him over the edge and with a grunt he ground against her.

A loud cough behind them made the pair jump apart as if jolted awake from a dream. Eomér spun around to cover Néela from view and she in turn slipped into her room like a scared mouse.

"Evening, my lord," Eothain said in his usual casual manner. "lovely night, isn't it?"

Eomér exhaled with relief. "Oh, it's only you."

"I feel like i should be offended by that. I am just as able to spread gossip as anyone else, you know. And if I may say so, you are not exactly exerting discretion when you are humping the servants in the halls... My lord." The cheeky grin on his face was positively infuriating to the king.

"Humping the - ...!" Eomér was sputtering in indignation, not even sure where to begin ripping his old friend limb from limb.

"Well, I'm on duty, so I'll be moving on, seeing as all is safe and well here." And with those words he left the speechless lord in the hallway.

"Safe? I'll kill him! Then let's see how safe he thinks it is!" Eomér muttered after a few moments, and then stomped through Méduseld to get to his own rooms.

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**Short, I know. I'll hopefully revive my muse by uploading this... Do review if you think it's worth the effort. And thank you for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Teaser...**

Chapter 20

The day after their hallway encounter, Néela went to éowyn's rooms after lunch to go to the practice yards as usual when she heard voices from the other side of the crack of the door. She easily identified the voices of Éowyn and Eomér.

"Brother dearest, don't you think it's time to give up on this endeavor?"

"But Éowyn, I'm not ready for that yet. I know we'll have to break it off eventually, but the time just isn't right for it for me."

"There is no future in this charade, and it's not fair to her!"

"She's hardly suffering here, Éowyn. She lives in the Golden Hall, with every need met and the man she loves in close vicinity."

"But does she know how you really feel about her? Or what you plans for your own future are?"

"No, I guess not..." Éomer sighed.

"It's time to end it, and you know it. Stop this pretending and move on to your real future, Éomer."

"Alright. I'll talk to her tonight..."

Néela turned and headed for the stables. There was no chance in Mordor that she would be around for that conversation. She had heard all she needed to hear.

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	21. Chapter 21

**If you are still reading this story after all this time, I am deeply impressed! Welcome back! I owe you the world's largest apology for my tardiness. Real life is stranger than fiction and often ten times as horrible, but I'm back.**

**If you are new to the story, welcome!**

Chapter 21

3 months after having left the king's hall, Néela sat alone in her parent's empty house and pondered over the town's defences by the hearth. Gulfar had been the last place she ever thought she would return to, but having left Édoras in distress and without provisions, she had quickly faded into hunger and semi-conciosness after a few days ride, and Hálla had carried her home, faithful as ever.

Home, however, had changed. Gone were the children in the streets and the laundry on the lines. Gone were the fields of wheat and barley, the sound of laughter and the glowing lights of fire in the windows. In stead, the fields were burnt and the remaining crops were struggling to survive the after effects of repeated fires, palisades had been erected, motes had been dug and shutters had been sealed. Small herds of domesticated goats and sheep had once been commonly found grazing in the surrounding countryside. Now, Farmsteads had been abandoned for the relative safety of the village, and the livestock brought into stables and shacks. Gulfar was a village prepared for attacks.

The people of the town had learned hard lessons of self preservation during the great war. Multiple raids by wild men, Uruk-Hai and warg riders had decimated their numbers, depleted their storages and left the innocent traumatized. They now knew to always be ready for violence and danger.

This was what could be expected at times of war, but since the fall of Sauron, attacks on the village had not waned. No, they continued to rain down from the mountains. Unchecked by any master's leash, the minions of Isengard, as well as those who had chosen poorly in their allegiances during the war, sought to plunder and terrorize wherever they could, some to survive, some for revenge.

This would once have been prevented by Rohan's soldiers, but their numbers had been severely diminished on the plains of Pellénor when they attacked the black armies of Mordor to save Minás Tirith. They were not able to patrol the borders as they used to, and thus left the people of Rohan to fend for themselves.

This was what Néela had returned home to; Her parents killed and the villagers desperate for anyone with any fighting skill. Skill which she now had, thanks to their Lord King and her former lover.

She had been equipped with rough leather cuirass and breeches, all tailored to her female form, as well as a boiled leather helmet to protect her from the most basic attacks without encumbering her. The leather had been dyed red in her own and her enemies' blood by fierce use and gave her a barbaric appearance. Her hair was braided in tiny braids that were entwined from the top of her head and down her neck, making a warriors Mohawk and keeping stray locks out of her vision. The once soft curves of the young woman had been hardened by muscles and the fat burned away in the fires of battle, leaving a shield maiden, a true champion of the realm and a hero to those surrounding her, to exist in her place.

Her radiant green eyes stared into the flames and considered only the demise of her enemies. How they would crush themselves on the walls of her home and how they would burn in the sticky tar of the motes. She considered watch schedules, provisions for the men, information on enemy movement from the surrounding villages and scouts. Her face was carved in stone and had not seen a smile in many long months. This was her life now, and she had accepted the brutal hardship of it in glad preference to the soul crushing sickness of a broken heart. If it meant that she would never again feel such sorrow, she would happily forsake having one at all. No friends, no family and foremost, no love. It was alright by her.

In stead she was revered, admired, respected and even feared by some who had seen the sharp end of her blades and lived to tell of it. It had been strange at first, to see men bowing out of her way and children hiding behind their mothers' skirts as she passed them by. In retrospect she realized that they had all seen her laughing in blood rage as she slew the orcs who had attacked in the night, her blood stained face, sneering in the firelight of burning cottages and her white teeth glinting as she roared her defiance at the stars. By then it was a bit of an uphill battle to get the people of Gulfar to see her as a girl once more, and when the children had all been sent away for their own protection, her will to live as a member of the tight knit community had been all but drained out of her.

It was all she could do to not look forward to the next battle now, to not become that which she loathed the most; A monster who lived only to kill and destroy. With no laughter, no love or ties to those surrounding her, she had entered a strange dissosiative state where only the thrill of the fight could penetrate the fog in her mind. She tried to stay connected to the world by caring for the village's defences and thereby for the people inhabiting the place. In return, they clothed and fed her and made sure she had wood and kindle for her fire.

But the true bonds of friendship she never allowed to touch her heart. The risk was too great and besides, she had discovered that she was more effective on the battlefield if she wasn't distracted by her fellows getting hurt. This way she could push harder, move faster and kill mercilessly. This way, her men fell behind and only had to contend with what was left after she had torn through the enemy's ranks, and only half as many were injured. She was the first wave of attack all by herself, the commander of her troops and fury incarnate if any dared affront her home. None lived that she had decided should perish.

This was a lonely life, though, and in the black of night she sometimes wondered what could have been. She wondered about the child that had lived in her womb for a short time, and would forever live in her heart. The fantasy of an angelic creature with the combined features of Éomer and herself, smiling a toothless smile at her from beyond the mists haunted and soothed her in her half asleep state when rest eluded her. She dreamt of summer days where a proud father swung the child in the air to the sounds of elated squeals and deep rumbling laughter. And when she woke, her insides ached and her eyes wept for a future that was lost to her.

It was lost, and she had had to harden her soul and body against the bitter disappointment and hate that filled the world. It was no wonder that Sauron had succeeded as far as he had; The hate in men's hearts could easily lead to corruption, and in her's as well. She could fall to evil if she gave in and killed indiscriminatingly for her own benefit. Now that fighting was her sole pleasure, the line between valor and crime was hair thin and this was the very reason she had had to lead in stead of follow when it came to strategy.

The village elders had proposed going on raids against the men of the wild and the remaining orcs so that they would never again amass their forces to attack villages in Rohan. This was a wise decision from a tactical point of view – strike the enemy at home, that he may never again rise against you. But Néela knew that if she did this, innocents would be hurt. Perhaps not amongst the orcs, but certainly in the homes of the wild men. And even if no innocents were there, she would lose her one golden standard; That she fought to defend someone else, and not for her own gratification. It might have officially been for the benefit of Gulfar and other villages in Rohan, but in the heat of battle on enemy soil, it would be assault, and she would lose herself to it.

She would kill without discrimination, without mercy as she did under attack, but she would be without the justification of defence. This would make her no better than the monsters who attacked her own village, and it was a level she as of yet refused to stoop to, so she had gone against the elder counsel, against the remaining populace of Gulfar, and by doing so had alienated herself from them even further. Now, she was nothing more than a tool and a great symbol of strength for them. Appreciated and revered for her function, but not quite loved as a person.

A knock on her door ripped her from her musings.

"Yes?" Her voice broke with the lack of use. Perhaps she should practice more…

A familiar face appeared as the door opened. "Hello, Néela. I heard you came back to your home town, but I scarcely believed it. Had to see for myself!"

Shock spread on her face as she bolted up and threw her arms around the neck of her visitor.

"Oh my goodness! What are you doing here?" She almost yelled at the poor man. "I haven't seen you in ages! Come in, come in!"

**Just trying to get started again. I think my muse died...**


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